Tricked
by Ayashi Tetsuko
Summary: Do not talk to strangers. Little Ginny Weasley had to learn the hardest way.  AU
1. At the End

**Tricked**

Do not talk to strangers. Little Ginny Weasley learned the hardest possible way. (AU)

Genre: drama, angst

Rating: M for language and violence

Pairings: Tom Riddle Jr. x Ginny Weasley

Disclaimer: anything you recognise is not mine. Including popular brands.

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><p><strong>The End<strong>

The steel door opens with a heavy clang, and Ginny Weasley flinched at the sight of the plain-looking room and its inhabitant.

There were three beds, with grey bed sheets and one pillow each. At the end of the bed were thin blankets, folded neatly -only God knows how such flimsy fabric would be able to withstand the temperature of the room. Beside each beds were wooden table and cupboard, painted with sickening, greyish colour. The walls are white as a snowy day, but look closer and you will find pencil writings scrawled all over it. None of them sounds happy.

The room was actually really clean, almost sterile. But something about the cleanliness made Ginny feels sick, instead of feeling comfortable or at ease.

Perhaps it was something about the two girls in the room.

The first one was sitting on the window-sill. She had one of her legs up, while the other hang loosely to the floor. Her hair was dirty blonde and was dreadlocked, and her sunken cheeks complemented well with her dark blue eyes. Ginny did not like the way those eyes bore into her, as if she was able to see her intestines by simply looking at her. The dark circles under her eyes were not helping neither.

The other girl was sitting on the bed. She had a book opened on her lap, which looked like some kind of a diary. Ginny felt that she was easier to look at than her friend over there, but still there were no signs of warmth or friendliness in her impassive stare. She was a brunette and her eyes were the colour of matching brown, and Ginny believe that in another world she would be a very pretty girl. But beauty does not shine in a place like this, and her pregnant belly does not help. It just felt wrong to see something bulging on the stomach of a teenage girl.

"Well, here is your room. And there're your roommates," said the officer, twirling the set of keys hanging on her belt. "Dinner at seven. Don't be late."

Ginny nodded. "Yes, ma'am," she muttered, clutching her bag even tighter.

The officer left and shut the door with a bang.

There was silence as the blonde girl seemed to be observing Ginny.

Ginny forced a smile, which only managed to move one side of her lips, creating an awkward smirk. Then she started to move towards the bed at the far end of the room. The bed where the pregnant girl sat on was obviously taken, and there were stuff on the small table in the middle of the room. The bed sheet also crinkled a bit, so she assumed it belonged to the blonde girl.

She put her small bag on the table in the farthest part of the room. She opened it and began to take out her belongings; her clothes (basic stuff like jeans, T-shirt, and a hooded jumper), her toiletries (soap, deodorant, toothbrush), and three books (a small Bible, a notebook, and her favourite teen writer which never fails to lift up her spirit). One does not take too many things when they are going to stay at a juvenile detention.

She was just going to open her cupboard when a hand suddenly hit the front of her cupboard (_BANG!_).

She squealed, and when she turned her head around, there was the blonde girl. Standing right at her back, her height intimidated her. Her left hand, which was still on the surface of the cupboard, became some sort of a blockade for Ginny to move anywhere. They were so close that Ginny was able to see the freckles on her face.

"Y-yes…?"

"Who the fuck told you to do that?"

Ginny started to shake. She gulped. "P-pardon?"

She just cannot see herself doing anything wrong that might have offended the blonde, but from the way she rolled her eyes to then stared back at her with a roaring fire in it, it seemed like she had upset her. A lot.

"You didn't ask permissions. You just walked in and put your stupid things there," she said. "Can't you see that there are people here before you?"

"Um… Yes?"

"You've eyes, don't you! Or are you blind!"

"Yes…"

"So why so hard for you to see us and talk to us first before putting…," she started hitting the surface of the cupboard, "your stupid clothes…", she continued hitting, "in this stupid cupboard!

Ginny closed her eyes as if she was able to block her yelling by doing so, as her hands were too full to cover her ears.

"I'm sorry…"

"You'd better be!" the blonde said, banging the cupboard once more. She turned around to get back to the window-sill, where she reached her pocket to find a box of cigarette to lit up before once again sitting with one leg up.

Still shaking with fear, Ginny managed to steal a glimpse to the direction of the pregnant girl, as if looking for a help. Or at least a sympathy. She found none of them; the girl just continue to stare at her with her cold stare.

She put her folded clothes back into her bag. Guess it is just not the right time to place it in the cupboard. She was going to apologise to the blonde, but first she felt the need to calm herself. So she sat on her bed.

Then she earned another scold from the blonde.

"Who told you to sit!"

Ginny jumped from the bed. She turned to face the blonde girl, who was staring at her with rage in her eyes. However, this time she decided that she was not going to take it just like that.

"I-I was just sitting!"

"So you dare to question me?"

The blonde girl started get up and walked towards her direction.

Ginny found herself making a strange, strangled noise. She had manage to cross this girl twice in less than half an hour, and she knows that she just will not get away with it this time.

Panicking, she moved her hands around as if she was trying to find something to say. Her eyesight wandered, desperately looking for a way out of the situation. That was when she found out how the pregnant girl remained indifferent to her situation, staring unblinkingly at the pages of her diary.

Help is not coming. She was all by herself.

When the blonde girl pushed her to wall, Ginny Weasley did not scream.

She just closed her eyes and silently cursed that fateful night when everything started.

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><p><em>There goes the first chapter. I hope I managed to tickle your curiosity. Reviews are highly appreciated. Thanks.<em>


	2. That Fateful Night

**That Fateful Night**

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><p>Mrs. Weasley opened up the glass door of Aunt Molly's Fish-and-Chips, and took a good look around the neighbourhood.<p>

Her fish-and-chips shop was located in a street where most of the shops in the Camden area were, with a book store across her shop, a fruit shop on the right side, and a small bank on the left. There were some people on the street, walking home from work or simply enjoying the afternoon. A dog was attempting to pee at a postbox near her shop; she shoo-ed him just right on time. Meanwhile, when she walked out of the door, she realised that the trees are losing their leaves already; a clear sign that winter is near.

Mrs. Weasley put a bright yellow folded board on the pedestrian walk ("Hungry? Turn left, please!" with a huge finger pointing at her shop, completed with a smiling caricature of herself on top, which was the logo of her shop). It was almost five in the afternoon and her tea break was over, so it was time for her business to start operating again.

A policeman passed by and greeted her with a warm "Good afternoon, Mrs. Weasley! Fancy weather, isn't it?". She replied with a hearty laugh and an offer for the policemen to have dinner at her shop tonight, which he did not reject.

She then returned to the warmth of her shop and was about to close the door when suddenly it was being pulled with force.

"OUCH! What… GINNY WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"

Her youngest daughter pulled the shop's door with all her might, ran across the room, hit a few plastic chairs along the way, to jump straight to the back of the cashier table, to then disappear behind the cowboy's door.

Mrs. Weasley heard nothing else but her daughter's angry stomps on the stairs.

Sighing, she yelled, "Whatever that means, I'm expecting to see you in the next twenty minutes. Customers are coming soon and I'm cooking!"

(_break_)

In your life, there would be at least one day when nothing seems to be in the right place.

Today was that sort of day for our Ginevra Weasley. Not only that she woke up about an hour late than usual (much to her mother's resentment, of course), she also forgot to take her breakfast and had to miss the school bus.

As if that was not hard enough, math was the first subject for the day, and she had to withstand Ms. McGonagall's speeches on why tardiness is bad for her future throughout the morning.

Lunch came and once again Ginny had to land herself in the island of misery when she accidentally bumped into Harry Potter in the school's canteen.

He was definitely no stranger in Ginny's short, thirteen year old life. Harry had been her brother Ron's best friend since primary school, and they had spent almost every summer together –going camping, watching the local football team in action, or even just spending nights full of laughter in a tent made of blankets in Ron's bedroom. Of course Harry is a familiar face to the Weasley's fish-and-chips store, where he always managed to return home with boxes of take-away, courtesy of Mrs. Weasley.

Yes, Ginny would be lying to say that he –with his brilliant green eyes and hearty laughs and his status as the captain of the football team- did not capture her attention. By attention I meant he was more than just a brother's best friend for her. You know. Yeah, she has a crush on him. That sort of thing.

This explains why Ginny was so enraged when he bumped into her today and walked away without any explanation. He did not even look at her, let alone saying hello to her! He just walked away as if they were strangers. What was that!

Ginny was so furious that she spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about how unbelievably rude he was, and that she just could not believe that this is happening. As soon as she got into her bedroom, she deliberately covered her face with a pillow, and screamed all her frustration out.

(_break_)

Lucky that Ginny never took so long to vent her anger and sadness.

Within five minutes, she was already sitting in front of her desk, pretending to play a piano on its surface, while waiting for her old laptop to start up. It once belonged to her brother Percy; the operating software was outdated and even the logo on the surface was already missing, but at least it still functions perfectly. And Ginny just do not know how she is going to survive without it.

Because she loves to write.

Being the only daughter of seven children, no matter how close she is with her brothers, there are just some things she can not talk about with them. Fred and George would pretend to fall asleep whenever she talks about dresses for her imaginary friends; Ron would laugh at her dream knight ("You want a guy riding on a white horse? Go date Gandalf!"); even Percy would start lecturing her about science when she thought it would be cool to swim across the ocean in a teacup.

Writing gives a space where she can talk about whatever adventures she wants to have without being laughed on.

Apart from that, she also loves to write about personal strength.

_Jane Eyre_ is one of her favourite stories, and she has been trying to make something similar to that. About how a heroine struggled with the pain of being abandoned or abused, and how her personal strength enabled her to survive poverty and lived as a strong, independent woman before finally meeting her dream man. Once she finished writing such kinds of stories, she would read it over and over again, and imagining herself to be centre of that story. It was like having a book that you can direct the content yourself.

So, imagine how she felt when one day Percy declared that he had saved enough money to buy himself a new computer, and thus leaving his old one free to be used by his sister (who was once being given a pink typewriter by Aunt Muriel. Typewriter!).

Anyway, back to reality.

Ginny quickly opened the internet browser and typed the address of the website where she recently posted her fiction works. The website was like a social media network where members had to sign up for an account, and they got to post their fiction works on their page. People get to read the works and give away reviews, so that the members would be able to improve their writing skills.

The problem is, she has not been getting many reviews. By far she had posted three stories, and only one of them had managed to score a few readers and two reviews; one softly reminding her to get a thesaurus (so that she does not repeat the same words over again), while the other one chose to be frank by saying that there is nothing interesting in her story and that it flows really badly. She just posted her third story yesterday, so it is a bit too much to expect that anyone would have read it already.

It turned out that she was wrong.

Someone had posted a review for her newly uploaded story, and this is what that person is saying.

_Dear Gin the Catlady (_this surely is her pen name_),_

_I have to say that I am really impressed with how your writing skills developed so far. I stumbled upon this particular story of yours and fell in love with it, and when I checked out your previous two stories, wow! The progress is significant. _

_I love how you portrayed human sufferings. You have successfully captured the emotions of the young girl in the story, so livid that I have to assume that you yourself is also a young girl (or just really amazing in reading others' mind). Most of all, you brought out social issues such as poverty and social stratification and how it affect the mind of young people. This is a very important message. _

_The only downside is that I noticed one or two grammatical mistakes, but you can easily fix that._

_Great job!_

Ginny's first reaction was to pick up her jaw where she had dropped them. Then she blinked, and her clear gaze proved that the writings were real.

It was real. Someone had written a long, in-depth review of her story, and it was a positive one! Someone complimented her works! Someone likes her works! Oh could this be real!

Ginny jumped out of her chair and start singing happily around the room. Her first positive review! Her first fan! Her…

"GINEVRA WEASLEY ARE YOU EVER GOING TO COME DOWN AND HELP ME!"

With regrets, Ginny stopped singing, grabbed a blue apron with a caricature of her mother on it, and ran to the ground floor.

(_break_)

As soon as she arrived at the ground floor, where her family's fish-and-chip shop is, Ginny was greeted by a sulking Ron who complained about how he had to leave his duty in the dishwashing post to take over her waitressing job. She then had to spent the next hours running around to take and deliver customers' order, clearing up a table once they are done, while being constantly being nagged by her mother from the kitchen.

Only after the last customer left that she was finally able to breath and sit behind the cashier table, watching Tonks (the punk-rocker who does part-time job at her family's shop) counting the money that they had earned today.

"This is a very long night, Tonks."

"Of course, I actually missed a date tonight."

Ginny giggled and finally she had the chance to think about the review she just received.

Ah, her reviewer. Finally she had someone who enjoys her story. If only she knew who that person is…

_Wait_. Was it an anonymous, or a signed review?

If it was a signed review, then whoever left the review surely is a member of that site as well! And she can see her profile! (She was quite sure that it was a woman, somehow. Surely boys are not that warm)

Ginny then quickly ran off to her room on the third floor of the building. Her laptop was left open on her desk, its body had became a bit warm after being on for too long.

She opened up the window where she read the review, and her hands were shaking as she scrolled up and down to look for a name…

There it is.

_Review posted by TM Riddle._

She took a deep breath and clicked the name.

She was soon directed to an almost blank page, where there is only an avatar with the picture of a skull and a snake protruding out of its mouth ("Gosh, that's scary," she muttered). There was no explanation in the user's profile page; not even any uploaded stories. The only thing to be sure of is that the person resides in the United Kingdom as well, and that he/she had been in the website for quite a while (strangely enough, without any works published).

Ginny took her fingers away from the keyboard. She then put her index finger on her lips, a habit that she always shows whenever she was fascinated by something.

_This is strange…_

She thought.

_Riddle. Was that even a real name?_

She finally decided that there was no way to find out. Shutting down the computer, she chose to end her day by jumping into her bed.

She was relieved, the hard day ended with the appearance of a mysterious person, which managed to make her feel warm inside.

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><p>Hey, everyone! First of all I want to thank all of you who had been reading the first chapter of this story... I'm really shocked to found out that it has received 71 visitors in just one day!<p>

To all of you who had put an Alert for this story, I sincerely hoped that the new chapters do not disappoint you.


	3. Ginevra Found a Friend

**Ginevra Found a Friend**

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><p>The bedroom was a bit dark, the young man had to crouch and put his hand over the gentleman's nose to ensure that he is no longer breathing.<p>

The gentleman, about as old as anyone's grandfather, laid motionless on the wooden floor, right in front of his bed. His eyes were wide open; there was this surprised look in his face. From above, it seems as if he was lying on his own pool of blood, as blood continued to pour out of his heart, staining his expensive silk pyjamas. His legs sprawled apart and one of his hands was near his heart, where an apparent gunshot wound could be seen. As if he was able to stop the bullet by doing so.

The young man got up and inspected the surrounding of the gentleman's body, being very careful not to leave any footprints or other marks that might lead into his involvement in the crime.

Blood, check. Evidences, check. Dead body, check.

Now, the weapon...

He then turned around and shifted his attention to another dead body lying on the floor.

This one was of a younger man, who looked much like the older man in the other side of the room. Judging from the clothes that he wore, it seems like he was just arrive home from work. There was a gunshot wound on the left side of his head, and our subject smiled happily at it, admiring his own shooting skills.

I forgot to tell you that the young man had a gun in his hand. He had killed the older man with it, and then his son as well when he walked into the room.

Now, all he had to do is put the blame into another hand. Creating diversion. Keeping his beautiful, long-fingered hands clean.

So, he put the gun on the left hand of the second dead body.

He carefully arranged the placement of the gun so that it really looked as if it fell naturally to the floor. He even made sure that the young man's fingers did actually touched the trigger of the gun, so that his fingerprints would be imprinted there.

After placing the gun in the dead body's hand, he walked back a few steps, trying to observe the situation in the bedroom more clearly.

He believed that he had created a realistic and believable scene. A son had had a quarrel with his father (he had dropped a beautiful piece of china to the floor to make it seems as if there was a fight before), then he pulled out his father's gun (which was always in a drawer near the door, he had confirmed this little fact) and killed his father. The son regretted his action and finally took his own life.

It was perfect. Wow, he really should consider writing and directing a drama. He is indeed really good at creating a scene!

However, deep inside he knows that he cannot do this forever. There should be better ways of doing this, and he needs to find it as soon as possible. Before suspicions arise and it ended up destroying him.

Our subject then opened the bedroom door, the blinding light outside created the siluette of a tall, slender man wearing a knee-length winter coat. His blue eyes glinted in the dark as he took off the surgical gloves on his hand.

With a smirk, he left.

(_break_)

The school bell rang and students ran out of classes as if they were being chased by an angry bison.

Ginny could be seen walking slowly behind those savages, her attention was on her Blackberry (once belonged to her eldest brother Bill who is working in an international bank, and thus able to purchase newer ones). Last night she was so tired that she did not get to reply the review given by that mysterious TMRiddle, so she felt like she should allocate some time to reply it as a form of appreciation.

_OMG thank you so much the review! I've never received positive reviews before, you've pumped up my spirit! I'm gonna update the story Hope you like it!_

She clicked 'send' and put her gadget into the pocket of her uniform. Picking up her pace, she finally stopped right in front of a big door with the sign 'AUDITORIUM' over it.

Slowly she opened the door, observed the almost-empty room, and walked down the descending stairs to join her brother Ron (an apparent red-head among rows of velvet blue chairs) watching Hermione doing a debate practice.

Hermione was doing her speech on the podium as the Leader of Opposition, her lips moves ceaselessly in a fiery tone, shooting up rebuttals to Prime Minister's case. Ginny leaned forward in order to be able to listen more closely; it turns out that she was talking about genetically modified crops. Ginny made a snoring sound, and her focus soon wandered into Hermione's teammate, Luna (who was wearing a sailor hat and was doodling mindlessly in her notebook).

Ginny then turned her head into Ron's direction, only to found out that her brother was discreetly enjoying a bag of potato chips.

"You can't bring food here!"

"Yes, if you don't shout about it!"

Two siblings ended up fighting over the bag of chips; Ron tried to keep it away from his sister, while Ginny tried to confiscate it. The bag then burst and the siblings found themselves under a shower of potato chips, much to the dislike of the school caretaker Hagrid ("Hey, yeh two. Over there, ninth row. Clean it up, won't yer?").

The two siblings ended up not talking for the rest of the debate. Ginny even made a point of moving two rows behind Ron's, to avoid talking to him, because she was just that annoyed at her brother. Seriously, is it her fault that he had to be so stupid?

When the opposition's whip is giving away his speech (Ginny had no idea who that kid is, someone from high school), much to Ginny's surprise and irritation, Harry suddenly showed up at the auditorium.

He was still wearing his football attire, and was actually carrying a muddy pair of football shoes in his hand. His Nike bag swing lightly when he walked down the stairs to Ron's direction. Suddenly he caught a glimpse of Ginny, and waved cheerfully at her with his free hand.

_How are you_, he mouthed, not wanting to make too much noises.

Ginny replied by dropping her jaw in disbelief (_So now that my brother's here he suddenly remembered who I am?_). But before she had a chance to open her mouth, he had already sat beside Ron and started talking about football.

Ginny threw herself to the chair furiously, her fingers typed a message in her Blackberry in a maddening speed. The message was then sent to Ron, complaining about his best friend's behavior yesterday.

As soon as the debate finished and Mr. Lupin, the English teacher and the debate club's supervisor, had done giving them some comments, Hermione walked towards Ron and Harry, looking as if she was ready to kill anyone who is in her way.

"_I-am-furious_!" running out of breath, she threw her notebook to a chair right in front of Harry's.

"But you just won first place!" Ron looked in disbelief.

"No! Not that…," she replied, looking swiftly at the stage, where the 'sailor' was doing a mute speech on the podium. "It's HER!" she hissed.

Ron sighed, scratching the back of his head, while Harry just cannot stop laughing. Ginny, whose curiosity is triggered, had forgotten her resentment against her brother and his friend, and is now joining the conversation. "What, what? What about her?"

"Oh, Ginny, you wouldn't believe the things she said," Hermione replied heavily. "If I didn't steer eighty-percent of our argument, then only God knows how we're going to survive this competition…"

"But isn't that always the case? You steer everything everyone is saying…," Ron said. Luckily for him Hermione was not listening.

"Can you believe that she was going to say… that we shouldn't modify the genetic code of vegetables… because vegetables had no voice and thus won't be able to say no to whatever scientists are doing to them! She also said that there's a disease called 'Crembitionisus', that would attack GM crops, if…"

"Uhm, 'mione…," Harry interrupted, staring meaningfully at something behind Hermione's back.

She quit talking and turn around to find Luna the sailor standing behind her.

"Hello everyone," Luna said calmly, taking a rolled-up newspaper out of the back of her skirt. "Have you read the newspaper today?"

"Oh? I thought you need be at least twenty before you can read it," Ron said. Ginny scratched her own face furiously; if his brother was trying to be funny then he clearly failed.

"Luna…," Hermione started, struggling hard to maintain her patience. "When I told you that you need to read more newspaper, I was talking about the _real_ stuff… not… not a crime tabloid like that!"

"There's no difference," Luna replied coolly. "It's all hard news here. Look, Prime Minister's head spokesman is murdered by his own son," she continued, showing a picture of a bloody murder scene, which was on the first page.

Everyone made a loud "_Eewww!_" when the uncensored picture appeared before their eyes; Ginny noticed that Harry angrily turned away (_Ah, of course. It must reminded him of his own parents_).

"Yeah. They fought and the son killed himself after shooting the father… Very dramatic," said Luna, reading parts of the articles. "But I know it wasn't the son who did it. It's somebody else…"

"Luna! You're able to investigate a crime scene without even being there. Impressive," Hermione interrupted, unable to contain the urge to prove just how much of a non-sense she is.

"Jealousy. Ambition," Luna muttered, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I can feel it…"

Ginny was just about to ask Luna how exactly she was able to feel the ambience of a crime scene far away, when she noticed that there was a new email on her Blackberry.

_Subject: you received a Private Message from TMRiddle_

Ginny made a choking noise. She scrolled the email up and down, and yes, there it is…

_Glad to know. Do create an update. I am waiting._

Everyone was then left to wonder why the junior high school girl suddenly went hysterical.

(_break_)

It is amazing how having loyal reader affected a writer's productivity level.

Ever since she received a (positive) review from that mysterious TMRiddle person, Ginny realized that she could not think of anything else but to create an update for her story. During classes, she scribbled an outline for the new chapter behind her textbook, and she also managed to magically juggle waitressing and writing at the same time, by writing dialogue for her story while she waited for the customers to finish reading the menu and give her order.

Unfortunately, this sudden rush of creativity lasted for three days only. Like a firework which was at its finest when it first explodes, then slowly fade into silence as it runs out, on the fourth day she stared blankly at her laptop screen, not knowing what else to write. The laptop had been turned off since, and she spent the next Saturday (which is supposed to be a perfect time to finish her story) going to see a movie with Fred and George.

After the trip to the cinema, the rest of her weekend was spent in idleness, apart from the time she was working at her family's fish-and-chips shop. She was sitting around lazily on her bed, sucking a lollipop and reading a teen magazine, when a red light blinked on her Blackberry.

_Where is the new chapter? _

I think by now you can already guess who it was.

Ginny almost swallowed her lollipop in surprise. _Blimey_, she thought. _He… um, she… didn't forget about it!_

She quickly fixed her sitting position, her thumbs danced wildly on her Blackberry. She really did not think that her reviewer would actually go to the extend of reminding her to update her story. She thought TMRiddle was just being polite and customary when she said she will be waiting for an update, and that's all.

_Dear TMRiddle,_

_Gosh, so sorry for the late update :'( I was doing fine until I started to lose inspiration… Now I don't even know what to write :'( :'( :'( I guess this is what they call writer's block. I'm so sorry for disappointing you._

_Gin._

She sighed deeply as she clicked the 'send' button, feeling so stupid for letting a reader down, while she was being very faithful in waiting for her updates. _Really, I should start working again._

She was just turning on her laptop and logging into her email account when she found out that there was another message coming.

_Dear Gin,_

_Writer's block is a myth. I know this sounds as if I was holding a whip on my hand and forcing you to work (sounds quite fun!), but believe me when I tell you that it is merely a shallow pool that many lazy writers let themselves drowned in. _

_The hardest yet the most important part of being a writer –I assume that you want to become one when you grow up?- is to ensure that writing become a part of your daily routine. Not just something to do when you are bored or 'in the mood' to create something. Just like any other job. _

_My advice is for you to make a habit of writing at least a paragraph a day. Push yourself to come up with something. Do not give up when your mind tells you that you have nothing to write; you can, and will have something to write if you put more efforts to it. Open your eyes. Use your imagination. Talk to people. Something will eventually appear. A writing job cannot depend on your mood only. You have to work hard to come up with something. _

_Anyway, you can just call me Tom._

_Eek!_ Ginny pulled a funny face as if she accidentally dropped her mother's favourite vase. _So this TMRiddle person is a bloke_. How embarrassing of her to think of him as a woman, just because he was being warm and kind.

_Shame on you, Ginny, surely there are good men as well._

And yes, one good man had given her an advice on how to deal with her writer's block. She might as well give it a try.

_Dear Tom,_

_I feel a bit awkward calling you by your first name :D and oh please call me Ginny, it's my nickname. At first Gin felt short and sweet for a pen name, but now I feel like a bottle in a pub. _

_Alright, I'm gonna try your advice :D I'll send you a PM again if it works!_

_Thank you very much!_

The message was sent and Ginny directly opened the file that she is working on.

Five minutes later, she still had no idea what to write.

"It's not working…," she muttered, scrolling up and down, re-reading her own writings. Last time she was writing a scene where the heroine had a fight with the rich gentleman; she threw him a pie and made strong remarks about how bad he is as a person. Then it stopped. That's all. She did not know what else to do after that.

_But hey…_

What if she write about the rich gentleman's reaction for the pie-throwing action?

The rich gentleman also had bodyguards. Maybe a little fight sequence will do great.

She then started to type a sentence, two, three… before she realised it her typing speed increase and she was soon lost in her own realm of imagination.

In the next ten minutes, Ginny realized that she had not only come up with a paragraph. She ended up writing a full scene, completed with that fighting sequence she suddenly had an idea of.

She jumped into her bed, laughing endlessly, feeling accomplished. As she calmed down, she slowly closed her eyes and said to herself, "Tom…."

She liked how the name came out of her lips.

(_break_)

Meanwhile, downstairs at the back of the fish-and-chips shop's kitchen, Ron and Harry could be seen sitting right on the door that leads into small backyard. Each of them had a plate of Mrs. Weasley's signature cheese fish-and-chips, completed with peas and black vinegar. None of the boys seem to notice the existence of his best friend, until suddenly Harry began to speak up.

"Ron, what happened to your sister?"

"Ba-don?" Ron replied with a full mouth.

"She seems upset at me," Harry answered, slicing the fish. "I don't know why, she just looked angry today when she saw me."

Ron finally swallowed the content of his mouth. "Do you wanna know what happened?"

Harry lifted up his head, and replied "Of course" before putting a chunk of fish into his mouth.

"Well… She sent a BBM and she said… Last Monday, she saw you at the canteen. And she's mad because you didn't say hello to her," Ron began. Harry's face quickly changed.

"But on Monday…!"

Ron started to laugh. "Yeah, I know. Apparently, someone also needs glasses."

The two boys soon laughed so hard that they would start rolling on the backyard if it was not for the plate they are holding. Because apparently Harry's glasses was broken and sent to the optic on Monday, which is why he had to go to school with a terrible, blurry sight.

Funny how Ginny was not able to see that.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello everyone! Sorry if it took quite a time to update... Such a long chapter! <strong>

**I'd like to thank everyone who had been reading, reviewing and putting this story into Alert. Let's see... There's solitude, stones taught me to fly, and veronick... Are you guys reading this? I have to say that I couldn't be any happier. Ginny's excitement is exactly how I feel now!**

**Special thanks to my best friend Fajri for that 'Crembi-something disease'. You are the Luna of our life.**


	4. Infatuation pt 1 A Fascinating Riddle

**Infatuation part 1 - A Fascinating Riddle**

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><p>Let's take a step back in time and see what happened in the other side of the city the day after Ginny first received the review for her fiction works. We are going to need this knowledge in order to move forward with this story.<p>

It was a small flat in one of the more upscale part of London. Outside, the sky was dark already, yet Tom Marvolo Riddle believed that it was never too late for a cup of tea, being the typical British lad he is.

He stood in front of the stove, watching the water boiled in the saucepan before taking it up and pour it into a big cup which bore the crest of his almamater -University of Cambridge. After that, he opened up a box which contained various kinds of teabag; his choice fell into an Earl Grey. The cold night and excessive workload called for something sharp and strong. Add a dash of sugar, stirred, then he leaned on the edge of kitchen table, blowing his drink softly, waiting for its temperature to cool down.

His gaze fell into one of the pots and pans hanging above of the small island in the middle of the kitchen.

As he slowly began to sip his drink, a pair of sharp blue eyes stared back at him. They told him that the owner is deeply lost in thought, as if waiting for something. To appear, to happen. And the waiting process was not a pleasant one for him.

The cold air made his white skin turned even more pale than usual, yet when he sipped his drink, the heat evaporating from his drink gave his cheek a slight pink blush.

Stroking his wavy, jet-black hair, he walked out of the kitchen to get back into his study, where work is waiting.

Soon the light of his study was turned on again.

Tom walked into the direction of his working desk, where a Macbook Pro was placed neatly in the middle of it, among piles of folders and papers. Carefully he put his cup on one side of the table, making sure that it was far enough from the folders and his laptop, to avoid any unwanted accident.

He took up his horn-rimmed glasses, put carelessly on a piece of paper that he had been using to scribble his thoughts. Then he looked up into his computer, and prepared himself to continue his work by opening up his email accounts.

There were at last five new email messages in all of those accounts, and he quickly replied two of the most urgent in his business purpose account. Another two in his personal account were merely notifications from a popular social networking site, and they went straight to the virtual dustbin. There were also string of delivery reports and reply messages from Gin the Catlady.

Without much of a second glance, he deleted it.

He logged out and opened up the file that he has been working on. He stopped for a while, reading what he had written so far, trying to catch up where he had left it. Then he confirmed it with the messy scribbles and the mindmap on the piece of paper before beginning to type again.

Type. Type. Type. Pause. Lips moved soundlessly. Type. Type.

His blue eyes glinted with intensity, its fire did not die out even when he stopped for a gulp of tea.

He continued to get infatuated by what he is doing until the door bell rang, demanding him to move right away and see who is outside.

There were these two gentlemen standing outside of his door.

Both of them are wearing dark-coloured business suit, and their lack of expression gave a strong impression that they are not here to ask for Hallowe'en candies. Something in their presence resembles authority, or perhaps fear for some, yet Tom showed no sign of surprise when he saw them at his doorstep. In fact, he actually straighten up his back and his voice had this business-like tone in it when he spoke to them.

"Good evening, Avery, MacNair," he greeted them.

"Good evening, Mr. Riddle. You are needed at the office. Please come with us now," said one of the mysterious gentlemen -does not matter whether he was Avery or MacNair.

"Yes, sure…," Tom replied, his eyesight gesturing at the clothes he wore for the night, which was an old gray hooded jumper and blue jeans. "If you… excuse for me a minute."

(_break_)

In the next hour Tom found himself sitting on the back seat of a dark limousine, watching the city lights go by as Avery (or MacNair, whoever) drove the car in an almost unbelievable speed.

He had switched his jumper and jeans into a nice set of business suit, which consists of a dark gray woolen coat, and a matching pair black jacket and pants, with white shirt and dark green tie. He looked as if he was really born to wear such kind of clothing; it fitted really well to his figure and the way he brought himself, and he seemed very at ease in it, as if they were T-shirt and short. The dark colours also seemed to enhance the pale shade of his skin, as well as his jet-black hair.

However, for the first time of the night, he began to show signs of distress on his beautiful face. Unable to sit still, a glint of anxiety was apparent in his eyes, and he was actually biting his own lips while the car began to get closer to the destination.

He leaned forward in excitement as the car entered Downing Street, passed a seemingly endless groups of security check, and stopped right in front of the house with a Number 10 hanging on its dark, polished door.

(_break_)

Prime Minister Dippet was sitting in front of his working desk, his attention was on the neatly piled folders in front of him. He had one of them opened and was carefully studying the content of it.

Heaven, he had so many decisions to make in one night; the meeting with the Ambassador of United States (he never enjoyed this, both on professional or personal level), the proposed new military budget (damn you, bloody terrorists, damn you), that student protest asking him to resign (what do you know about forming a government, lad? He was already running for office when you were still running around in diapers!). Oh, and that speech in the next United Nations General Assembly. His country had been taking a rather unpopular stance with its environment policy, he really need to be careful with that, and…

_Knock, knock_.

"Come in," the old man said, his voice managed to conceal the conflicts and distress of his mind.

The door then opened, and Tom Riddle could be seen standing there with a polite smile and a nod. He had left his woolen coat downstairs, and was carrying a folder and an iPad with a smooth black leather cover.

"Riddle! I have been expecting you," said Dippet, motioning to one of the two chairs in front of him. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you, Prime Minister," Tom replied, moving forward to sit in front of the Prime Minister.

For a few seconds, the two gentlemen just sat there and stare at each other. Dippet was so intense in the way he looked at the assistant to the head of prime minister spokesperson for international affairs, as if trying to read his mind, while Tom himself just sat there with indifference on his eyes, his smile remained polite and reserved.

"Well, Riddle… I would not waste any more time, as I believe we do not have many of them…," Dippet sighed, beginning to say what he longed to. "But I believe that you have heard about the sad news?"

"About Mr. Grindelwald, sir? Yes, I have," Riddle answered. "I went to his residence this afternoon, it was… really tragic, sir."

His face showing an expression of deep concern, yet his body language remained calm and controlled when he said it.

Dippet took a deep breath. "Indeed, it is very, very shocking for us all… Never thought…," Dippet sighed. "I offer you my deepest condolence for the death of your superior, Riddle. It is a great loss for the office."

"Thank you, sir, that was very kind of you," Riddle replied. "Mr. Grindelwald is an excellent diplomat and had always been an example for the younger generation like me."

"But this is shocking, isn't it… Never thought that he would have such tragic death. Being murdered by his own son like that," Dippet continued, sadness made him looked even older than he already is. "His family had always been respectable, free from scandals…"

"I heard the intelligence is starting to probe into this matter, sir…"

Dippet suddenly lifted his head.

"The intelligence? Is there something that I do not know, Riddle? Is there something behind this… this incident?"

For a split second, Riddle looked a bit taken aback. But then his self-control returned and he managed to give another polite smile, "No, sir. No. _Even if_ there is… I believe the intelligence themselves are the most capable of speaking about it," he said. "Not me."

There was a strange glint in his eyes. It looks a bit like victory, but unfortunately Dippet was too lost in his own thought to be aware of it.

"Right… Right, I am sure it is. Very well, while we are at it… I want to talk to you about something, Riddle…," Dippet said, his focus returned into the opened folder in front of him.

"Please, sir."

"Due to this… unpredictable nature of Mr. Grindelwald's departure, our own head of prime minister spokesperson, I found the need to immediately find a suitable person to replace his position and resume his responsibilities…," Dipper slowly began to speak.

Tom listened carefully.

"However, judging from our condition, with so many things to catch up with, I find that it would be… impractical, to recruit someone new," Dippet said, staring intensely at Tom. "Beside, there's only two years left… If you follow me."

"Yes, sir."

"…which is why I decided that… for the time being, I shall appoint you to do Grindelwald's responsibilities and resume to the position of head of prime minister spokeperson…"

Even with his exceptional skill at self-control, it was really hard for Tom to contain the excitement in his eyes. His smile grew, and there was this hint of satisfaction as he heard about his appointment to replace Grindelwald's position.

"Thank you very much, Prime Minister. I am deeply honoured."

"Yes, yes… you're welcome. I have always notice your extraordinary talent, Riddle. Being young, and already at this position. I believe that this is your time to shine. You would have no difficulties doing all his works, I am certain," Dippet said.

"I will do my best, sir, I will not disappoint you," Tom added hastily.

"Very well! Then I must tell you that we need to begin work immediately…," Dippet said, bawling his eyes out. Tom quickly opened the covering of his iPad, and prepared himself to take down notes.

"Regarding my speech at the UNGA next month…,"

"Mr. Grindelwald and I had prepared the first draft for you, sir," Tom replied, handing the folder in his hand to the Prime Minister. "If you please…."

"Excellent! Very well, Riddle…," Dippet replied, the lights on his eyes returned when he accepted that folder. "Now, I am very sorry to say this, Riddle, but I think I have to make you stay for the whole night! We have things to do here…."

Riddle gave a polite laugh. "You can rely on me for that, sir…"

"Fantastic…," Dippet muttered, his sight wandered around to the things on his room. "Anyway, what would you like to drink? I have this really good whiskey sent from an old colleague of mine, I can ask Tom -the other Tom, not you- to fetch it…."

Tom (the young, beautiful one) lifted up his head, and give a warm smile. "Tea will be fine, please, thank you."

The victory in his eyes had not fade away.

(_break_)

Today was a bright and sunny afternoon, yet Ginny Weasley had another reason to be excited as she sat in her family's fish-and-chips' shop to enjoy an afternoon tea.

Almost all of the Weasleys are there, with the exception of Mr. Weasley (who had not yet return from work at the post office) and the oldest boys Bill and Charlie (who are in different places all over the world). The plastic tables at the shop are being put together in the middle of the room, to allow them all to sit together in comfort, while a puffing pot of tea could be seen in the middle of a sea of pastries and cakes, all of them are made by the mother herself. It looked as if the Weasleys are having their very own a very merry unbirthday party, except that they were not mad and did not wear funny hats.

However, as I have told you, Ginny had her own reasons to be giddy and excited.

She had finally managed to finish her new chapter in the last two night. It immediately went to her publishing account, and yes, as if the website's automated alert was not enough, she deliberately sent a highly-spirited, enthusiastic message to Tom to inform him of this new addition ("_TOOOOOM I MADE IIIIIIIIIIIT_!" was exactly how it looks like).

Eager to see what he was going to say about it, as well as being haunted with fear that he may not going to like it, for the next two days Ginny just cannot stop staring at her Blackberry, which was now put right in front of her plate. She looked as if she was considering to have it for tea.

Mrs. Weasley was not very happy about her only daughter's behaviour.

"_Ginevra Weasley_!"

Ginny almost jumped and threw the table away. "Y-yes… Mom?"

"Are you ever going to put your phone away and pay attention to us?"

There was an awkward silence as Mrs. Weasley glared at her, while all four of her brothers stuffing their face with strawberry scones.

"Paying attention to… All of them, pigging out?" Ginny asked, her eyebrow lifted in disgust as George put two scones at the same time into his mouth (while Mom's not watching, of course).

"It's not about the eating, but here we are having a family time. You may as well try to make conversation with us," Mrs. Weasley replied, still looking displeased.

Ginny found this idea to be hideous, as Percy, who was sitting next to her, had been spending the whole hour staring into a thick Chemistry textbook, with a highlighter in his hand, slowly munching a pastry.

"But Percy hasn't been paying attention as well! He's busy with his book!"

"It's called studying," Percy replied, without even taking his eyes off the book.

"Your brother is studying for his GCSEs, and he's applying for medical school… He is excused," said Mrs. Weasley.

"So I'm not excused because I'm not, and won't, enter a med school?"

"Stop being ridiculous! I don't see my children like that!" Mrs. Weasley. "Don't you dare making all these… non-senses, accusations as excuses for your behaviour!"

"Mom! I was just pointing out that you're being unfair here! Percy is not paying attention as well, but why…."

"Enough! ENOUGH!"

Ginny went quiet. Her instinct told her that it will be much too dangerous to continue arguing when her mother started to look like that.

Mrs. Weasley got up, and then, much to Ginny's horror, grabbed her daughter's phone and took it away from her. "_Mom_! No… I'm waiting for a reply…."

"You're not receiving any reply!" was Mrs. Weasley's order when she put the phone into the cashier machine, and locked it there, altogether with the money.

(_break_)

Ginny had to spend the whole evening figuring out ways to get her Blackberry back.

First, she tried to manipulate her mother by telling her that she felt like doing some works behind the cashier today, instead of waitressing as she usually does, but of course Mrs. Weasley knew better ("No! You're going to fetch that phone as soon as I'm away in the kitchen!"). So the lady boss asked Tonks to stand at her post in the cashier table as per usual, warning her against letting Ginny get too close to the machine.

But Ginny is not the kind who give up so easily. As soon as she got free time, she spent it by standing behind Tonks' back, trying to persuade her to open the machine and give her phone back.

"Tonks, I need your help."

"Nope, sweetheart, I'm not risking my salary by crossing your mother. You're welcome."

Ginny could only grunt in frustration for the rest of the evening, until the shop closed and her mother -without even a smile or anything- unexpectedly decided that she had enough punishment for the day and returned the now dead Blackberry to her.

Ginny mumbled her thank you and ran away to her room, trying to get the phone on as soon as possible. She plugged in the charger, and desperately rammed the surface of her desk as she watched the yellow light blinking on her phone.

"Come on… come on… please…," she muttered, feeling as if she could go crazy anytime soon.

The phone then went on, and she did not waste any time to wait until it was completely ready. She quickly opened her email, frantically searching for something new.

There was none.

She slammed her phone to the desk, and walked away to a mirror hanging on the wall, right in the other side of the room.

Ginny did not like what she saw on the mirror. Her long, red hair was all messed-up, she was not even sure if she did really comb her hair in the morning or not. There was no trace of a smile at all in her face, and, ugh, she really despise how her lips shaped like now. Which only made her feeling worse.

She covered her face with her palm and made this frustrated, muffled yell.

Then she release her face and back into facing the mirror. That was when she realised that there on her desk, her Blackberry was blinking with red light.

_Hello there, miss Ginny. I apologise for my late reply; I recently had a promotion and have been occupied with work since. But I just did a quick read of your new chapter, and I think it is great. A bit cheesy on the pie-throwing part, but you can really feel the emotion, the anger that the character is radiating. I hope this means that you have decided to do my advice, and the fact that it works made me feel relieved. Congratulations._

A reply was soon sent.

_Dear Tom. _

_OMG I'm really worried when you didn't reply ASAP! I thought you don't like the story or else :( But now that you've read it and you like it, that really put me beyond relief. Phew!_

_And yes, your advice really worked! I went blank the first 5 mins but then I just kept on going and the story's suddenly there! Thank you, thank you ever so much! You don't know how much it is going to benefit me :D _

_Which makes me wonder… You seem to understand so much about writing. Are you a writer?_

_Congratulations for your promotion! Wow, you're so amazing!_

When you are that excited even typing a reply can be so breathtaking. Ginny then arranged her pillows to make a comfortable sitting position, and as soon as she hit them, another message came in.

_Thank you for your congratulations, Ginny, and for deciding to follow my advice. I am really happy that it worked for you._

_As for my job…. Am I a writer? Yes, I think I am. In a way. _

_Anyway, Ginny, wouldn't it be more comfortable to proceed our conversation via Messenger or Skype? This is getting a bit weird._

The message was then ended with an email address, and a request for her too invite him for an online chat.

"Oh my God! Oh my God…," was Ginny's breathless reaction to his request. She then opened up the said Messenger on her phone and type his e-mail address to invite him to her contacts.

Even during the waiting moment, she took the liberty to comb her hair in front of the mirror, then came back to sit prettily, as if he was able to see her from the phone.

A message came with a loud 'ping!' sound.

_tmriddle : That was fast._

_Catlady_Ginny : Uhm, yes :D hi Tom_

She sent an icon of a smiley face with waving hands.

He replied with a similar icon.

Even seeing the icon made Ginny wanted to die (_why am I so excited?_).

_Catlady_Ginny : So… um, a/s/l? LOL_

She laughed at herself while secretly hoping that he would understand her humour.

_tmriddle : age and location are secrets. But you know perfectly that I'm a bloke. LOL._

_Catlady_Ginny : Y? :( hmmm alright then. _

_tmriddle : I'll tell you someday :) _

_tmriddle : So, how's your day, little friend?_

_Catlady_Ginny : How do u know that I'm younger than u?_

_tmriddle : I could tell ;) _

_Catlady_Ginny: :( u r so secretive_

_tmriddle : All in good time :) see, even your reaction tells it all. _

_Catlady_Ginny : :( _

_tmriddle : Hey, don't be sad. You managed to finish a chapter. That's the mark of a good day, isn't it?_

Ginny felt a warm blush on her cheek before she could manage a reply.

_Catlady_Ginny : thanks. U r very sweet, Tom._

_tmriddle : You deserve it._

_Catlady_Ginny : OK I'm speechless now _

_tmriddle : Don't be. It's just me. _

_tmriddle : So how are the cats?_

_Catlady_Ginny : How do u know that I used to have cats?_

_tmriddle : Your username?_

Ginny slapped her own head at his answer (_Seriously, just how stupid can you be, Ginevra?_).

_Catlady_Ginny : right, that's very silly of me. _

_Catlady_Ginny : Soooo u said u r being promoted :D _

_tmriddle : Yes I am. But it was not a completely happy story, though._

_Catlady_Ginny : Y? :( u r not proud of yourself?_

_tmriddle : Oh no, it's not like that. I'm proud of my achievements. It's just that… I'm being promoted because my boss had passed away. That's why I was chosen to fill his position and do his duty._

_Catlady_Ginny : OMG so sorry to hear that :( but hey surely they chose you becuz u r d best that they have, right? what happened to ur boss? Is he ill?_

_tmriddle : Thank you. No, he was murdered._

Ginny sent an icon of a shocked smiley face, accurately mimicking her very own facial expression.

_tmriddle : I know, it's like a book, right._

_Catlady_Ginny : By whom! OMG be careful Tom… he might come after you next!_

_tmriddle : No, he would not. _

_tmriddle : Thank you for your concerns though._

_Catlady_Ginny : Sounds like u have a quite dangerous job… But u said u r a writer?_

_tmriddle : Some sort of a writer, yes._

_Catlady_Ginny : OK I'm confused._

_Catlady_Ginny : So r u a journalist?_

_tmriddle : No. My job involves writing, but it is not writing per se. I read International Law in my undergrad and it has a significant contribution for my work._

_tmriddle : Journalists and writers are not the only profession that involves writing, dear._

_Catlady_Ginny : Oh? Rly? What else? _

_tmriddle : Most careers in the media and communications field required the ability to write, e.g. copywriter, PR officer._

_Catlady_Ginny : Oh I c… Thanks for the info. I need to know 'cuz I really want to write for a living, but my parents said fiction writing isn't a safe career choice._

_tmriddle : That's great. Well, you can always do both :) I have read your stories and I realised that you are progressing rapidly for a young writer_

_Catlady_Ginny : Thank you, Tom..._

_tmriddle : You can do it :)_

Far away in the different part of the city, Tom Riddle may not realised that the simple things he wrote on the Messenger as he finished his work late at night would meant the world for a certain young girl. But most importantly, he had not yet realised how much he himself can benefit from this encounter.

He was just looking for a little entertainment when he decided to invite little Ginny Weasley for a chat.

* * *

><p><strong>Decided to finish updating before the flood of ideas and inspirations started to ruin my work life (though I am afraid it has).<strong>

**To all Tom Riddle fans out there, I hope I did him justice by his portrayal in this story. **

**I found lots of new names on the Review and Alert part… Hello, anon, I Believe in Thestrals, and Lizzie! You guys made my day, just like Tom makes Ginny happier whenever his messages appear.**


	5. Infatuation pt 2 CandyPoison

**Infatuation part 2 – Candy/Poison**

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><p>As soon as every students were on board, the school bus shut its door close and started to move.<p>

The row of seats at the back of the driver's was especially reserved for Harry Potter and his friends, which often includes Ginny, tagging along whenever her brother Ron goes. It was a windy Monday afternoon and nothing really special had happened today in the life of our young friends.

Leaning to the back of the seat in front of her, Ginny watched each one of her brother's friends, doing their own things.

Hermione was sitting beside her, fussing over a test result that had just being returned by the teacher. She got 92 out of 100, and she was wondering where did the remaining 8 points go.

Ron was having a heated argument with Luna; one of them is trying to convince the other that pizza is now a kind of vegetable, and I guess you can tell who.

Neville Longbottom, another friend of Harry's, was busy looking for his phone; he lost them so many times no one even bothered to help him anymore.

Harry himself was busy playing a game in his iPod; his eyes accidentally met Ginny for a split second. Unfortunately Ginny chose to be more interested in watching Hermione and her books, and had to miss a little 'hello' smile that Harry just sent to her. He ended up looking confused and chose to focus back on his iPod.

On the farthest seat on the bus, Fred was trying to woo a girl, with the (unhelping) help of George as his wingman. All passengers' attention was in the effort of the funny bloke; however it seems like they see it more of a comedy show than a romance film. Ginny was not sure whether she has to be happy for her brother or not.

Since everyone was practically busy, Ginny decided that she should make herself occupied as well, and not depend too much on everyone's company to have fun. She knows how to do it as well, and she does not need everyone to help her achieve that. They should learn that she is much more independent than is expected, thank you very much.

So, after swishing her red hair to the back, she took out her Blackberry, and her fingers immediately found their way to the Messenger. Without even thinking.

She clicked it open, and change her status into 'Available'. Then she scrolled down her contact lists to find out who was also online.

No, _tmriddle_ was not one of them.

Ginny sighed. Oh, if only he was there. She closed her eyes to remember how they began to talk days ago, and ever since that, they have been talking for at least twice. Nothing too heavy, just some petty talks. Mostly on how her writing had progressed and how her day had been so far.

During those talks, he still would not reveal much about himself, though Ginny was sure by now he had already know that Ginny is a junior high school girl who is in the lacrosse team and is working part-time at her parents' fish-and-chips shop. He also knows that Ginny loves cats and collects postcards; not that much of an information, but still considerably abundant for two people who had just met -_virtually_- for a week.

Sometimes she wondered if she had shared too much with this mysterious Tom bloke. But then she shook off that fear by insisting that they do not talk about anything else but her writings and her daily life, and it is not that she had agreed to elope with him. He does not even know her full name yet. No, Ginny knows that she is a smart girl. Smart enough to know when to say no and back away from trouble.

She clicked Tom's profile and stared at his avatar.

There was no photo to reveal how he looked like, only a picture of the skull and the snake, just like the one in his publishing account. He also never updated his status message, which was always empty (No such things as "Happy Birthday, Aunt Mabel!" or "Toothache. Need dentist ASAP", with suitable emoticons).

Mysterious and secretive are indeed the best two words to describe him. She had no idea how old he is, how he looked like. Where he lives (somewhere in England, that is for sure. A simple matter as England is only as big as a coffee table), what exactly he is doing for a living (he still would not give a clear answer). Whether he is married or single or divorced. And most importantly, what his intentions are.

What if Ginny took the initiative to find out who he is?

Well, because in this postmodern age, everyone's identity is scattered all over the Net. She just had to type his full name in the search engine, and something will come up within seconds. Perhaps an article about him winning the first prize in a literary competition, a forum where he posted news about his favourite football team. His account on that popular social networking site.

The only problem is that she does not know what his name is. Yes, he is Tom. But Tom who? Is it really his name? It was such a common nickname. Is it even his real nickname, how he is being known in real life?

Then there was also the word 'riddle' in his username. At first she thought it was really his surname, and she did type them on the search engine. But she ended up finding hundreds of people with the same name from various part of the world, so many that she did not even bother to look at them.

Apart from that, she did not really think 'riddle' was his real name. No, it must be some sort of a jest. He likes to be secretive, and often confusing. She bet he chose that username because it fit him so.

With a deep sigh, Ginny to put her phone back into her bag, barely noticing that Harry was staring at her, with a questioning look on his face.

(_break_)

The door of Aunt Molly's Fish-and-Chips opened with a loud '_cling_' and soon a big group of teenagers swarmed in ("Mom! We're home! Good afternoon, Mrs. Weasley!"). Mrs. Weasley herself, who was behind the cashier table, greeted them all with a massive smile ("Welcome home, kids! Harry! I have prepared your favourite cheese and fish dish!").

However, when Ginny walked pass the cashier table, her mother suddenly lost all her smile and cheerfulness, and her tone became more business-like. "Ginny. Go wash your hand and face, I need you to do something for me."

"Pardon? But everyone is…," said Ginny, gesturing at her brothers and their friends, all rushing upstairs to check out the television.

"I am not going to say it twice, Ginny."

"But…"

"_Ginevra_."

"Alright."

With heavy steps, Ginny then proceeded to go upstairs and leave her things to then return to her awaiting mother.

Minutes later, Ginny came back downstairs to find her mother sitting in one of the plastic tables, with a thick book and piles of papers on it. She looked almost excited when her daughter approached her, looking reluctantly ready for whatever is coming.

"Ginny!" she greeted, beaming with a warm smile. "Sit down, my child… I have to show you something."

Ginny took a seat beside her Mom and stole a look at the papers laid in front of her. They looked like bills and documents to her, and she wondered how they would have something to do with her. "What is it, Mom?"

Mrs. Weasley took a deep breath, swished her hair to the back in an eerily similar way to Ginny's, and with a smile, she placed her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Ginny… you are my only daughter."

Ginny bawled her eyes out, surprised that her mother still needs to inform her this cold, hard fact after all these years.

"Yes. Not to play favourites among my children, but you are special, my dear… Each of you are special. Well, in your own way, of course," Mrs. Weasley continued.

"Well… thank you, Mom," Ginny replied, her confused look indicated that she still does not understand where this is going.

"And I've seen something in you that your brothers did not have…," Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny was going to say 'like breast and vagina', but then it is better to keep her mother's mood in place at times like this.

"…Which is why I decided that I am going to inherit this shop for you," Mrs. Weasley ended, with a proud smile on her face.

Now this is where Ginny became really surprised.

"_Me_? The shop?" she asked, images of freshly printed books that bore her name and the Reclining Buddha statue in Thailand suddenly surfaced into her mind.

"Yes… You are going to grow up to become a woman, my dear, and someday, you're going to have a family as well, just like me. It is important for you to find a secure job… Well, hopefully, you'll find someone with a better income than your father, but… Well… The point is, you need something to help feed your family, but doesn't take much of your time. Or required you to travel too far… Oh, how I hate seeing mothers leave their kids behind to go here and there!"

Ginny started to panic as her mind was flooded with images of busy airports and book-signing events, which she was sure her mother was not going to like. And, oh no, why she began to picture herself driving a roofless jeep along the coast of California, wearing big, stylish sunglasses, with the endless summer sky on the background?

"So, in order to make sure that you are perfectly ready to run this shop, I believe that I should begin to teach you about how to run a business," Mrs. Weasley proceeded.

_This is getting worse_, and Ginny was not sure whether it was her sudden rush of imagination or her mother's ideas.

"You've been doing some waitressing job since last year, which is great, but not enough," said Mrs. Weasley. "So I decided to teach you some finance things to complete your understanding."

There was nothing but an image of an erupting volcano in Ginny's mind now.

The deafening noise of the eruption continued to disturb Ginny's mind as her mother shoved the accounting book in front of her and taught her the differences between debits and credits and why they have to be different.

Lava started to run through her vein in form of fury, and she was not sure whether it was because of the blinding rows of numbers –which began to look like Sanskrit texts for her- or the fact that her mother expected her to stay at home and run a shop, and give up her dreams of becoming a famous writer and see the world.

(_break_)

Ginny threw herself to her bed, covering her hot, tired eyes with both of her hands, as colourful, kaleidoscope-like images began to appear at the corner of her eyes.

Tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Ever since she had learned to read, Ginny had always despised numbers, and the fact that her mother just lectured her about her upcoming duties as a wife and mother did not make the recent study session any easier.

It was frustrating, really, to see where their road had began to part. Throughout her life, like many other young girls, Ginny sees her mother as her heroine. Someone who knows about the world better than everybody else, whose decisions always managed to save her day. Someone who will always be there for her, no matter what mistakes she had made before. That was until her mother began to reveal her plan for her…

While it was already a struggle to accept that she had actually created a plan for her future, she still has to deal with the fact that it was way too different than her own.

She planned of independence, of a fulfilling career and a life full of adventures. Her mother planned of marriage, family, security, and a fish-and-chips shop for her to run, just in case her future husband's salary was not satisfying.

For the first time in her life Ginny realised how they differ as a person, and she did not like this new face her mother is showing. Or has it always been there, but her young and naïve eyes were unable to see that?

In the middle of her agony, a message appeared on her Blackberry with a 'ping' sound.

_tmriddle : Hello, little friend._

Her tears came flooding at the awaited appearance of the mysterious friend.

_Catlady_Ginny : Tom :'(_

_tmriddle : What's with the tears?_

Ginny then flooded his screen, at the other part of the country, with a full account of what had just happened.

Tom was sympathetic.

_tmriddle : So sorry to hear that, little friend. I am sure your mother had your best interest in mind._

_tmriddle : However, I do agree with you. You should not waste your life working in fish-and-chips shop and taking care of noisy children._

"See! Even you know it's not going to work!" Ginny yelled to herself, replying with the furious speed of her fingers.

_Catlady_Ginny : I dunno what to do, Tom… my dreams r very important 4 me… I don't wanna give them up!_

_Catlady_Ginny : I don't wanna be like Mom, stuck in her shop 24/7, not caring about anything else that happened in the world!_

_tmriddle : I understand. _

_tmriddle : American feminist Betty Friedan wrote something about 'the problem that has no name', a phenomenon that happened to stay-at-home mothers in post-WWII America. _

_Catlady_Ginny : Betty who?_

_tmriddle : …_

_tmriddle : Well, the point is, being forced to become a stay-at-home mother, without a job or any other activities to express themselves and unleash their potential, is known to be potentially detrimental for women. Your concern is not unheard of, dear._

_tmriddle : That's why I said I can understand your feeling._

_Catlady_Ginny : my mom is a tyrant! No wonder Bill and Charlie went to other countries as soon as they could leave the house!_

_Catlady_Ginny : they're trying to escape her!_

_tmriddle : Bill and Charlie?_

_Catlady_Ginny : My eldest brothers. They're all abroad now._

_Catlady_Ginny : Bill works in a bank, he's transferred to Egypt 3 years ago. He became so rich! Once he invited all of us to visit him in Cairo, OMG it's amazing Tom! It was the only time I ever went abroad_

_tmriddle : Sounds wonderful :)_

_Catlady_Ginny : Yeah I went to the Pyramid! It was MASSIVE. The weather's hot but everything is really erotic…._

_Catlady_Ginny : OMG TYPO I MEAN EXOTIC _

_tmriddle : (insert an icon of a smiley face, rolling on the floor laughing)_

_tmriddle : (and again)_

_Catlady_Ginny : TOM! :'( _

_tmriddle : I'm sorry, little one, but that was PRICELESS _

_Catlady_Ginny : :'( :'( :'(_

_tmriddle : Alright, alright… Let's get back to the Pyramid._

_tmriddle : (still laughing)_

_Catlady_Ginny : :( _

_Catlady_Ginny : Yea um it was the first time I went out of the country border. I was scared of the immigration, I'm afraid they won't let me pass :D _

_tmriddle : Because you were thinking of erotic things about the country?_

_Catlady_Ginny : (insert an icon of a red devil)_

_tmriddle : Alright, I'll keep my mouth shut_

_Catlady_Ginny : I'm being serious :( well ever since that I knew that I wanted to travel the world when I grew up. Seeing things I've only ever seen in books n films._

_Catlady_Ginny : Charlie is even better… He works for Animal Planet, making documentaries_

_Catlady_Ginny : He'd been to the South Pole! _

_Catlady_Ginny : He's now in Indonesia doing a documentary on Komodo dragons. Every week he sends me email… Did u know that there is a pink beach in the world?_

_tmriddle : Yes there are pink sands. They get the colour from coral reefs. _

_Catlady_Ginny : It's really pretty! Pink is my fave colour _

_Catlady_Ginny : But he also sent me pictures of Komodo dragons. They're really scary :( He said they attack people when they poo in the bushes. He sent me a pic of one eating a deer! Brutal_

_tmriddle : Hey, reptiles are amazing. They are my favourite animal._

For the first time in an hour, Ginny showed a shocked, disgusted look on her face.

_tmriddle : Yes. Especially snakes, they are beautiful and strong._

_Catlady_Ginny : Ewww_

_Catlady_Ginny : Aren't u scared of them?_

_tmriddle : Only the weak is scared of the strong and beautiful, Ginny._

Honestly Ginny did not know how to respond to that.

_tmriddle : You are a strong girl, Ginny, you should not let your fear control you._

_tmriddle : And yes, in correlation to that… I think you should do something about pursuing your dreams, Ginny._

_Catlady_Ginny : You mean…?_

_tmriddle : Let me ask you a question. You said you despise the fact that your mother is trying to steer you into becoming a housewife._

_tmriddle : What if she was able to do that… Because she has no idea what you really intend to do in the future?_

Ginny dropped her jaw.

_Catlady_Ginny : Well, um… I think I once said to her n dad… That I love writing and that I wanted to be like Roald Dahl, JK Rowling, and Enid Blyton…_

_tmriddle : That's all?_

_Catlady_Ginny : Yeah. I think so._

_tmriddle : When was it? Just recently?_

_Catlady_Ginny : Nope, it's long ago. I think in 3rd or 4th grade. I finished a short story n I showed my dad._

_tmriddle : And his reaction…?_

_Catlady_Ginny : Well, he said that's great of me to be able to write my own story. I guess he's just being kind, he's always like that. I don't think he can even read my handwriting. _

_Catlady_Ginny : Ooooh but I remember my mom's reaction! _

_Catlady_Ginny : She's knitting n she said writing's good but I should put my school first! Bcuz she said being a writer doesn't always give u money, so she said I should always make school a priority_

_Catlady_Ginny : She's wrong, I'm gonna show her that I can be famous n rich with my stories!_

_tmriddle : That's a good spirit that you're showing, but you're going to need more if you really want to make it come true._

_tmriddle : Correct me if I am mistaken, but I got the impression that your father was much easier to talk to than your mother…?_

_Catlady_Ginny : oh yes he is a very relaxed person. I mean, when Mom is mad at us, he's always the one who calmed her down. Saying things like 'Molly that's too much… the kids r trying…'_

_Catlady_Ginny : I wish he's not that busy. I want to spend more time w him._

_tmriddle : :) where does he work?_

_Catlady_Ginny : He's d head of the local post office. _

_tmriddle : Alright then. Well, Ginny, since I had an impression that he's a much easier person to talk to, then I think it will be wise for you to make him as your ally._

_Catlady_Ginny : My ally?_

_tmriddle : Yes. I suggest you to try to talk to your mother about your dreams. About what you aspire to be. You don't need yet to point out how it differs from her plan… Just be subtle with it. _

_tmriddle : But before you do that, you need to have a back up. In form of your father's support. So that if, just in case, your mother went mad at you, your father can help you by giving a support._

_tmriddle : I am not a father but I believe they will never say no to their princesses' wish :)_

Ginny's eyes bawled at the appearance of an information about Tom's background. Now that is something. She can find out more about him from this.

_Catlady_Ginny : Well that makes sense…_

_Catlady_Ginny : I think I'm gonna try it. Thank you, Tom :)_

_tmriddle : You're welcome :) I hope I do not sound as if I'm acting as an adult, telling you what to do._

_Catlady_Ginny : Oh no, Tom, not at all! It's a good advice n I like the way you told me abt it!_

_Catlady_Ginny : U explained it well, like step by step. I like it when people explain things like that_

_Catlady_Ginny : U remind me of Bill, Tom :') he's also very kind n caring. I wish he's here._

_tmriddle : Thanks. I never thought that it feels nice and warm to take care of a little sister. Never had any._

_Catlady_Ginny : r u also the youngest child?_

_tmriddle : An only child, to be precise._

Another interesting piece of information.

_Catlady_Ginny : So u have no siblings? Just you n your parents? How's it like? R u lonely?_

_tmriddle : No, not lonely at all. _

_tmriddle : If I ever get lonely I can just go online and talk to you, little friend ;)_

Ginny's face was so red that it matched the colour of her hair.

_Catlady_Ginny : I'm blushing here!_

_tmriddle : Why?_

_Catlady_Ginny : Tom u r so sweet!_

_Catlady_Ginny : I wish u r really my brother_

_tmriddle : Then adopt me as your brother_

Ginny's laughter started to burst at this idea.

_Catlady_Ginny : My family can't afford another child, Tom_

_tmriddle : How many of you, I wonder?_

_Catlady_Ginny : 9. Molly n Arthur plus 7. We can start our own reality show._

_tmriddle : !_

_tmriddle : That's… A very big group of children. Phew._

_Catlady_Ginny : I know…_

When Ginny was just finished writing a reply, a loud thud –which sounds very much like a cupboard falling to the floor- was heard from the bedroom next to hers, which was Fred and George's. It was then followed by a laughter, and Mrs. Weasley's angry shouts from below. Ginny took a deep breath.

_Catlady_Ginny : My house's like, really crowded. My bros r always noisy. Running ard, doing crazy things._

_Catlady_Ginny : Funny, I often get lonely. What do u call it? A paradox?_

_tmriddle : Yes, a paradox._

_tmriddle : Well, don't be, little friend. You have me :)_

_tmriddle : If you want to, I can be your brother. Not a biological brother. More of a soul brother._

_Catlady_Ginny : Tom :'(_

_tmriddle : Don't be sad :) I am here. _

That was the second time Ginny cried within one night.

(_break_)

Teenage girls, aren't they just plain annoying?

Underneath the amicable surface of cheerful laughter and inviting youthfulness, there were these crazy little imps ready to invade and drain the life out of you, with their maddening volatility.

Ginny Weasley was definitely not an exception, Tom Riddle concluded, as he stared into the computer screen late at night in his office.

When he first invited her for a chat, he never thought that she is going to be quite a handful like this. Constant flood of grammatically incorrect sentences, mirroring the difficult life of a 13-year-old. If it was not for his exceptional self-control and the amount of workload that he had to do, Tom was certain that he was going to fall asleep in sitting position.

However –as he leaned backward to stretch his back- he found that she can also be very entertaining.

Oh, forget that mindless mistype, there were far more interesting traits that keep him attracted to her. Her innocence, for instance. The fact that she believes in the 'adopted brother' idea wholeheartedly.

Well, the problem is, Tom hates innocence.

Innocent children drive him crazy. Whenever he saw them, his brain would start sending thumping pulse of adrenaline throughout his system, filling him with indescribable anger.

Years ago, when he was just a young boy, this flood of hatred had led him into his first murder attempt.

And yes, he felt this blinding hatred whenever he reads anything that emphasize Ginny's innocence. She really does not know how the world works; she thought everything was going to work according to what her story books tell her.

It was certain that her father is not going to be brave enough to support his little princess' dreams –please, the old man was clearly not a king in his own household, with a domineering old wife like that.

Tom closed his eyes to dive deeper into this rush of emotion.

He felt like destroying her. Yes, really. He wished that right now, as Ginny brushed her hair to prepare herself to sleep, he could sneaked into her bedroom –_bet the bed sheet was pink_. He was thinking of strangling her, hitting her head with his fist, or perhaps even deflowering her, on her own bed, with her stuffed animals as dumb witnesses… Watching the annoying innocence drained out of her system. Then he is going to happily watch her skin turns purplish as life slipped out of her young body.

But he decided that he is not going to finish her just yet. At least not now.

For there is another trait that she is embedded with, and that is her courage.

Completely unstoppable once she has set her heart into something. He was certain of this fearlessness. If he can get into her mind, and made her do his bidding…

That sounds interesting.

Which is why Tom, despite his tight schedule, always manage to find some time to say hello to Ginny the Catlady. Despite still being unsure about it, he knows someday he gets to use the innocent aspiring writer to his advantage.

All he has to do is to lure her closer into his world.

A message appeared on his Messenger, preventing him from continuing his musing.

_Catlady_Ginny : Goin to bed now! :D_

_Catlady_Ginny : Good night, dear brother :) sleep tight!_

_tmriddle : LOL. Actually, I am still at the office right now. Got things to do :)_

_Catlady_Ginny : WHAT!_

_tmriddle : Well, that's how working life is :) Have a nice sleep, little friend._

_Catlady_Ginny : Ah, OK. Good night, Tom. Please remember to take a break whenever you feel tired :(_

_tmriddle : Will do._

He then closed the window and took a deep breath. _That's another difference between us, baby Ginny_, he thought. _While you were already with your Teddy Bear, I'm still in front of my Mac._

He then fixed his sitting position and prepared himself to work again.

Oh, anyway, he now has a new desk.

It was in the same room with his old one; after all, there were only two persons in the spokesperson for international affairs office. But his desk is now the biggest one in the room, placed exactly at the middle, facing the polished, wooden door. He no longer need to sit right beside the door, having to be disturbed by people going in and out. It was also more spacious here; he does not need to sit so close to a filing cabinet.

The workload has doubled and overtime has become a daily routine, but Tom felt very fulfilled and satisfied with it.

Because he understands that in order to make it to the top, apart from working harder than his peers, one should be willing to step on a few toes. Or even better; push somebody down from the ladder. Just like what he did to Grindelwald and his son.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," he said.

The door opened and an old man walked in, carrying a tray with two tea cups on it. Tom recognized him as _the other_ Tom, who had been working here for years, making tea and cleaning up the desks at the office.

"Your drink, sir…," said the old Tom, putting a cup of tea on the corner of the desk. His thin hand slightly trembled by the effort.

Tom just stared at the cup of tea. Then he cleared his throat. "Ah… Excuse me. Your name's Tom as well, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tom, what did I ask you for my drink tonight?"

"Black tea, sir… Strong, with one teaspoon of sugar."

"Excellent…," said Tom, our main subject. "Now let me ask you one question, eh… _Tom_. Did I ask for a cup of weak tea?"

The old Tom batted his eyes. "Well, no, sir."

"Then why do you give me one?"

There was an eerie silence in the air as Tom stared unblinkingly to the old man, whose frail body began to shake.

"_Well_!" Tom pressed on, his tone hardened.

The old man lost all his words, not knowing how to respond.

"This surely cannot belong to anyone else, right, as there's only me and Fudge in the office at this hour…," he continued, peeking into the tray that the old Tom was carrying. "And yes, that white one surely belongs to him…"

"So why do you give me a weak tea, Tom?"

The old man bowed down his head.

"Very well," Tom said, getting up from his chair. He took the cup and threw its content to a pot of plant nearby.

"Make me a new one," he muttered, putting the now empty cup back into the tray.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello readers!<strong>

**Alright, if you feel like punching Tom after the closing scene of this long, long chapter, then I'm going to tell you that you're not alone. I actually feel like crying now. So heart-breaking.**

**The scene came spontaneously; I never planned for it but then my fingers just moved by themselves. I think I'm under the Imperius curse, or being possessed by the Heir of Slytherin himself. I don't know. **

**And you might also notice the appearance of JK Rowling's name in one the dialogue. Yes, that one was intentional :D I had no strong reason, though. I just feel like giving the mastermind behind this saga a proper credit (she's so amazing that even her characters want to be just like her. Aw yeah).**

**As for the feminist that Tom mentioned, Betty Friedan… I strongly recommend you to read her book, The Feminine Mystique. It was written in the 1950s but I think it is still relevant, especially in the more traditional societies. If you're too lazy to read philosophy books, a summary is widely available on the Net. **

**To anon and Lizzie, I hope you managed to keep your anxiety level low when you're reading this chapter :D **

**(Apparated to work on the next chapter)**


	6. Living Portrait

**Living Portrait**

* * *

><p>Tom announced that he was going to New York City for a week.<p>

Ginny was hysterical.

As soon as the announcement was seen on her Messenger, Ginny immediately flooded Tom's computer screen with tons of crying smiley faces (about 30 of them, she recalled in retrospect), and begging him not to go and leave her alone. Because her mother is becoming harder on her everyday, and she just does not know how to face it without Tom's advice or companion.

She would only stop crying and begging when Tom explained to her that he will be gone for just a week, that it was a very important business trip, and that unlike the deep forest of Amazon, New York City has a very decent internet connection. The only thing that would prevent them from talking is his busy schedule; he had warned her that he might only be able to reply late at night before he went to bed, as he would be occupied even during lunchtime.

Ginny sent out guilty, virtual laughter after the explanation, and apologising for being reckless in reacting to his announcement (_"I thought you're leaving for good!"_). In his office, Tom felt like slamming his head into his shiny new desk.

This is the very reason why she was even more inseparable from her laptop and her Blackberry in the past week.

Usually, they would talk during the afternoon, in the middle of school or work hours, sending out casual 'hello' or updating about their activities for the day (as usual, Ginny was the one with more elaborate details). Then they would proceed talking again at night, with Ginny struggling to remain awake as it had passed her usual bedtime.

Percy once caught her still chatting to Tom at 11.15 PM. Since then, she would be very careful on keeping the lights off whenever they had their evening talks. She would even type under her blanket.

Black circles started to appear under her eyes. At school, she was so sleepy that McGonagall once sent her to the toilet to wash her face. She was also performing badly on her part time job in the fish-and-chips shop; she kept on forgetting orders or delivering them to the wrong tables. Do not ask me what her mother was thinking about it.

Her writings and Tom were the only thing that matter in her mind now. The worst part is that, even though she still managed to survive her days and keep her results steady, she knows that she could crash and burn anytime soon, both academically and personally. However, the tough-hearted girl still insisted that she will be just fine, as she believed that the intensity of their talk will be lessened due to his departure to New York City. They would only talk at night, and it was a considerably short one. Often he would only send her pictures; of the JFK airport (when he first arrived), the busy street of Manhattan (when he was on the way to work), and the inside of the UN General Assembly (how he was allowed to get there was a mystery for Ginny, and of course he would not give an answer).

Oh, if only keeping her mind away from him is really that easy. Because, even as we speak, Ginny was sitting on the floor in the farthest, loneliest corner of the school library, well-hidden behind a bookshelf, sitting near an electric socket with her laptop on her lap.

She deliberately escaped from Mr. Binns' lethargic History class to have a chat with Tom, who was having a very rare 2-hours break from his unbelievably tight schedule. She just cannot let this opportunity passed.

According to him, he was now sitting on a bench in Central Park, enjoying a nice hot dog with onions and cheese.

First he sent a very beautiful picture of tall buildings appearing between sea of trees. Then he sent a picture of the hot dog he was eating when it was prepared by the Chinese man who sell it (_"Blimey, that sure looks tasty!"_). The last picture he sent was a close-up of a black horse, staring peacefully into the camera.

_tmriddle : If you were here, I'm going to take you around the city on this horse carriage._

Ginny blushed and almost turned into an apple at this invitation. Then she suddenly had a brilliant idea.

_Catlady_Ginny : Y don't u take a pic of yourself? U know, to prove that u r really there at Central Park. _

She was still curious, of course, about who is behind all this brilliance and warmth of a man. And she would not stop until she gets her answer, even if he had to reject her for…

_tmriddle : Sure._

Ginny almost threw her laptop to the bookshelves.

So he had finally decided to show her his picture. She can finally found out how he looked like. The moment is finally here!

Ginny then stared into her laptop screen with her mouth wide open. Her mind wandered into the nights when she laid awake on her bed, trying to figure out how he may looked like… It's finally over and now she can have the truth.

An image file appeared on her screen. She clicked 'accept', and took a deep, sharp breath as it began to open.

It was a picture of a gentleman's legs.

The picture was taken from above, possibly with a phone camera. The gentleman was sitting on a typical park bench, a gravel path was visible beneath his patent leather shoes. His legs was crossed and there was a hot dog wrapped in tinfoil on his lap, apparently he had eaten almost half of them. He was wearing a dark gray pants and a long coat with a darker shade of gray. A can of Coca-cola was beside him.

Ginny was furious.

_Catlady_Ginny : TOM! Y r u sending me a pic of ur legs!_

_tmriddle : Because you said you wanted a picture of myself._

_tmriddle : My legs are part of myself._

If Tom was there, then Ginny would surely have batted his arm in a very comic-like manner.

_Catlady_Ginny : I meant ur face… I wanna see ur face X( _

_tmriddle : Then I am afraid you have to wait a little longer._

_Catlady_Ginny : Y? Y u don't want me to see ur face? :(_

_tmriddle : Not that I do not want to. It is just not the time yet._

_tmriddle : All in good time, little friend. As I always say._

Just before Ginny managed to sound her disappointment, she heard footsteps approaching. Feeling panic, she looked up to where the sounds came from.

And found Harry standing in front of her.

"Oh… Hello," said Harry. "What are you doing there?"

Ginny hastily closed her laptop. "N-nothing… J-just… Just browsing."

Harry lifted his eyebrow, not looking very convinced. "You skipped class, aren't you?"

Ginny sighed. There was no point of lying at this point. "Well, yes."

She made an awkward smile, which immediately turned into a panic. "But please don't tell…!"

"Calm down…," said Harry, turning to face the bookshelves. "What's the point, anyway."

"Great, thanks," Ginny muttered. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"

Harry picked up a book and checked out its content. "I got a football match tomorrow, so I have to skip class. Lupin has been kind enough to let me take this test in advance."

That explains the piece of paper and the pen in his hand.

Ginny smirked. "I bet your godfather is behind this."

Harry laughed. "Right! Of course… That's the point of having a vast network, isn't it?"

Harry is living with his godfather, Sirius Black, who was once an infamous guitarist of a heavy metal band. He is now a record producer and enjoys collecting vintage motorbikes. Back then in high school, he was a very close friend of Mr. Lupin, the English teacher, which explains why it was so easy for Harry to take a test in advance. Sirius was also a friend of a man named Pettigrew -once the manager of Sirius' band before it became famous, but unfortunately ran away with their money later on. His name is forbidden to be mentioned in front of Sirius these days.

Most of all, he was a friend of James Potter, Harry's belated father, an aid worker who was kidnapped and killed in Somalia when he was on duty.

Ginny still found it hard to comprehend how the young man was able to deal with such great tragedy. At such a young age.

"So, Ginny…," Harry muttered, checking out some more titles on the bookshelf. "Can you please help me with this? English is your best subject, right?"

Ginny started, surprised with the question. "Oh… Yes?"

"Well, Lupin told me to review a poem," Harry answered. He gestured at the bookshelf. "There's so many of them, I don't know where to start."

"Ah, okay…," Ginny muttered, moving closer to the bookshelf. "What do you like to read, Harry?"

"Comic books," he snorted. "And football news."

Ginny rolled her eyes, and they both laugh together.

That was the first time in weeks that they actually talk together, after that small incident when Harry did not say hello to her. Since things had been quite tense between them, the laughter felt so relieving and warm to her.

She does not think she was still angry at him after that.

Minutes later they can be found sitting opposite each other in one of the long desks in the library. Ginny had picked a selection of Rudyard Kipling poems for Harry, which he happily accepted. He thought 'If-' was the easiest to understand and he liked the message that it sends, so he decided to use it for his test.

After writing down the first paragraph, Harry's bright green eyes looked up, trying to steal a glance to Ginny's direction, who was busy typing with a cheerful smile on her face.

"Are you… Um… Working on a new story?"

The red-haired girl stopped short.

"Well…," Ginny muttered, somehow finding it a bit hard to answer. "Yes. Yes, a new story."

"Nice," Harry muttered.

Ginny gave away an awkward smile then return to her laptop, trying to contain her excitement after reading about Tom's return to London in the day after tomorrow.

"You look very busy these days," Harry said, out of the blue.

"Pardon?"

"Yeah, I mean…," Harry replied, twirling his pen, struggling to find the right words. "You seem to spend more time with your laptop… But of course it's because you're writing a story, right?"

He let out a forced laugh, followed by Ginny herself.

She got the impression that Harry added the last sentence hastily, but she did not think it was anything out of the ordinary though. He was often a bit odd and awkward. Poor bloke.

"Excuse me, I've to go to the toilet," Ginny said, closing her laptop. "You're not going anywhere, right? Please watch my laptop."

"Yeah, sure, no worries."

Harry's sight then followed Ginny as she walked away from the desk. She passed along bookshelves, disappeared, appeared again… Until she made it to the door and walked out of it.

Harry returned to his test, but his mind was clearly not on Kipling's poem.

Putting down his pen, he sighed heavily and closed his eyes. Slowly he got up, casting a silent prayer (_"Lord, please forgive me!"_), and walked to the direction of Ginny's laptop. With extra care, he opened the laptop, and pulled out a chair to sit on.

Lucky for him that Ginny thought using a password to protect her laptop is a bit too inconvenient.

(_break_)

Later that afternoon, Ron was seen standing in front of the family's fish-and-chips shop, while a lorry was moving backward, slowly and hesitantly towards his direction. He was waving his hands, giving directions to the driver _("Alright, alright… Turn right, turn right! Alright, stop… stop… STOP, WILL YOU!"_), and the lorry managed to stop right before it hit and turned him into a pancake.

After yelling brief profanities towards the driver, he jumped into the lorry, unload its content, and walked back into the shop with boxes of eggs and flour.

Inside the shop, Mrs. Weasley was busy giving orders to her sons about where to put and unpack the groceries, which was meant to supply her shop. While her brothers are busy carrying boxes, Ginny was to sit at one of the tables, doing accounting works –the new routine which her mother had assigned to her at least twice a week, in order to prepare her to run the shop someday.

Ron cannot help not to notice the different tasks Mrs. Weasley had assigned them to.

"What are you doing?" he asked, peering into her works while carrying a box loaded with butter. A disgusted look appeared on his face when he saw the balance sheets she has been working on.

"Accounting stuff. Mom told me to learn it," Ginny answered, struggling to use Percy's scientific calculator.

"Why? Don't you get these stuff in school already?"

"Well… Mom thinks I need extra lesson," Ginny replied, writing down numbers in a column. "Because she said I need to understand more to be able to run this shop someday."

"Run this shop?" Ron asked, looking surprised.

"Yeah," Ginny answered, still not looking at her brother. "She said she want me to own this shop someday. So be it."

Ron looked as if he was going to say something, but then he went quiet; he pursed his lips and there was this displeased look on his eyes.

"She handed it to you, eh," he muttered.

When Ron walked away to proceed working, his ears seemed very red.

Ginny was not too happy neither.

Since weeks ago, she had been trying to implicate Tom's advice of persuading her parents to let her follow her dreams –and hopefully, give up this useless lessons in accounting. His advice required her to talk to her father first, before she could talk to mother.

That is where the problem is; her father was always too busy. He would came home after seven o'clock, when Ginny was busy in the shop. After that, she often rushed upstairs to find him snoring on his favourite sofa in the living room, still in his working attire. Ginny had to take off his shoes and try to wake him up without surprising him too much.

Even if he was awake, he would usually just smiled at her weakly, looking too tired to think of anything difficult.

It is not that he does not care about his only daughter. In fact, he had always asked her about her day; what she has been doing, any problems that she would like to share. This is not something he does to his sons. But she just does not have the heart to burden him even more.

Yesterday, as if things cannot get any worse than this, her father caught a really bad cough and had to stay at home throughout the day. If she cannot bear to talk about her problems when he was perfectly healthy, then there is just no way that she would barge in into his bedroom and do it now.

_So much rubbish_, she thought, when the shop's door was opened and Hermione Granger walked in with a cheerful air around her.

Ginny's face lit up a bit. "Come here, sit with me!" she yelled, tapping the chair next to her.

"What's up?" Hermione asked, putting down the books she was carrying on the table. She then took off her shawl and fold it on top of them. "Is that homework or something?"

"Yes, from my Mom," Ginny answered, while Hermione sat beside her and peeked into her balance sheets.

"Balance sheets, indeed," Hermione muttered.

Ginny sighed, picking up the calculator. But before she could finish typing the number, Hermione pointed at a column and said, "That's two-hundred and eighty pound."

Ginny turned her head into her direction. "Really?"

"Yes, seriously," Hermione answered. "And that one is seventy-six pound, not seventy-seven…."

Hermione continued to point out her calculation to assist Ginny with the sheets, and she almost fainted when the studious girl said, "Wow, this is getting interesting!"

"Are you kidding me!"

"No I don't! Seriously, numbers are fun," Hermione answered, earning a disgusted look from Ginny. "They're just like puzzles, you know… Give it to me! Let me do that!"

Ginny happily shoved her works away to Hermione's direction, feeling relieved beyond compare. She leaned on her chair while taking a deep, sharp breath. Her gaze then fell into the pile of books Hermione was carrying.

In between school books and a binder to do her homework in, Ginny found something that was pink and glossy. She picked it up and recognise it as one of the most popular female magazine in the country, with a picture of famous singer Celestina Warbeck on the cover.

Ginny had to struggle to contain her laughter. "I didn't know you read this as well!"

"Oh, that…," Hermione replied, pink blushes started to appear on her cheek. "Well, I'm just like any other girls, you know… Just because I'm more serious in…"

To be honest Ginny was not too interested in listening to Hermione's explanation, now that she had found a more interesting toy to play with. She opened the first page of the magazine, looking at an advertisement of a perfume.

That was when she realised that Hermione had put a bookmark in the middle of the magazine.

Fascinated by her brother's best friend's obsessive-compulsive tendency, she opened the page to check out what was in there.

"Oh, that part…," Hermione muttered, looking more like a steamed lobster. "Well, that's…"

Ginny spread out the magazine on the table and found herself staring at a picture of one of the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life.

The page on the right side had a black-and-white picture of him, standing with his hands on his pockets, in front of a white background. The lack of colour, met with his wavy jet-black hair and pale complexion, gave him the impression of a slightly older Eton boy from the beginning of the 20th century. The impression is strengthened by the Hugo Boss suit he was wearing, which fit really well with his tall and slim figure.

And then there were his eyes.

Ginny felt grateful that the picture was colourless; she knew that she was going to die if those sharp eyes, which stare seemed to see through every single cells in her body, were gray, or even better, dark blue. There were no smile, both on his eyes and lips, and his body language speaks of arrogance and shrewdness, but Ginny thought any sign of gleefulness would ruin the whole idea of him. Surely he was beyond young boys like Ron and Harry, who were easily pleased and thus were able to laugh at everything.

Ginny blinked furiously. "Her-mi-o-ne. This man, he's… _Bloody hot_!"

Unprecedentedly, Hermione started to giggle. "I know, right? And he's really amazing, you should read his profile!"

"Ah… who's he?" Ginny asked, turning her attention into the article that was on the left side of the page.

"Hm… _Tom Marvolo Riddle is the hottest thing that ever happened to Downing Street no.10_… Oh, he's a politician? I thought he's an actor!" Ginny began to read, confirming the fact to Hermione.

"Yes, he is! He's the Prime Minister spokesman for international affairs!" Hermione replied, looking very excited. The balance sheets were completely forgotten.

"_Graduated with a first class LLM from University of Cambridge_… and he's smart as well!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ginny, 'smart' is an understatement when it comes to describing him. You see, he's doing a job, that's usually done by people over 45! And he's only in his early thirties!"

"My God…"

"Like that was not enough, he speaks four languages, read classics, and was a World's University Debate champion!" Hermione continued, looking almost breathless. "Oh, I know debaters would end up doing great things!"

She looked as if she was just trying to convince herself that the extracurricular activity she had chosen for herself was not going to be in vain.

"But is he single, though?" Ginny asked, searching for any information on the man's marital status. "If he's married then it's all useless!"

"He's single!" Hermione yelled, pointing frantically at the last paragraph, which talks about him 'still wants to focus on building his career'. "Ginny, he's single! Hope prevails!"

Both girls then squealed madly at this information, followed by a scold from Mrs. Weasley. Feeling ashamed, Ginny was forced to return to the balance sheets and Hermione suddenly felt an urge to go to toilet.

When Ginny began to turn on the calculator again, she knew something was amiss. But she cannot remember exactly what it is.

(_break_)

Ginny laid awake on her bed. The room was dark, and she was already under her blanket, comfortable in her favourite pyjama. Her collection of Pygmy Puff dolls was scattered around her body; that way, she believes that they will protect her against evil power during her sleep.

There was no Tom on her Messenger today, so she can finally go early to bed and catch up with her sleep, which had been few and far between. All her homework are done, she had also done her job at the shop. She had already put her dirty laundry in the washing machine, and yes, she had also brushed her teeth. Even she had called Ms. Hooch, the lacrosse team coach, about the practice that is going to be cancelled on Thursday.

So why did she feel as if she had forgotten something?

It had been like this ever since she had a conversation with Hermione regarding that hot bloke in the magazine. As if a little child was tugging her skirt, trying to get her attention, but when she looked down, she just cannot find that little child. It felt really weird and disturbing, and Ginny just cannot wait to get rid of this feeling.

She twisted and turned on her bed, until she finally gave up, turned on her bedside lamp, and beginning to sit straight.

"Okay… It's something to do with Hermione…," she muttered. "Did she leave anything behind? No, no… I'd have seen it immediately…"

She kept on thinking, her fingers making a counting gestures.

Until suddenly something rose on her mind.

_No way_.

She blinked furiously, rubbing her cheek like mad.

_Seriously… this is unreal!_

She looked around her room in confusion, and picked up her Blackberry. She was just going to dial Hermione's number, until it dawned on her that the girl would probably be sleeping already. Or was still busy studying.

Ginny then decided to leave her bed and walked out of her room, with her Pygmy Puff collections all fell to the floor.

(_break_)

"Pardon?"

Percy Weasley was sitting on the floor, facing the coffee table in the middle of the living room. He was just going to sip a cup of coffee, and there were school books and notes scattered around him, with his new laptop placed nearby. Percy was doing his late night study session, and since he shared bedroom with Ron, who was fast asleep already, he had to move here to proceed his noble task.

"Percy, please, answer me… What's an LLM?"

"An LLM?"

"Yes, I think it's an academic degree or something…," Ginny answered. "Do you know what is it? I mean, what kind of degree is it?"

Percy put down his cup. "Oh, that. Well, that's easy," he answered. "It's a Master's degree."

"In what field?"

"_Law_."

Ginny's eyes were bawled. She looked a bit like a fish that way.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

Ginny took a deep breath. Panic started to surface in her, and it was not unnoticed by Percy. "What's the matter?"

"Percy! Another question," Ginny hastily added, moving to sit right beside her brother. "What's exactly a spokesperson for the Prime Minister is doing?"

Percy fixed the position of his glasses. She got an impression as if this was going to be a harder question to answer.

"Well… they represent the Prime Minister to speak publicly about certain issues. By releasing public statement…"

"Does the job involve writing?"

Percy looked as if he was thinking. "Well, _yes_. Often they have to write speeches for the Prime Minister, as well as press releases…"

Ginny looked as if she was going to faint.

(_break_)

Tom was beyond relieved to be able to tick New York City off his to-do list.

Gone all the days of sleepless nights and grueling meetings with ambassadors of foreign countries, now he is free to do whatever he wants, at least for this one glorious Saturday. Apart from that, he had also proven his worth on his first assignment as Mr. Grindelwald's replacement, as Prime Minister Dippet's speech received a warm applause and welcome from fellow delegates of the assembly. So everything was sailing smoothly in his ocean of ambition. He was proud of himself.

It is indeed always good to be home; but it is also better to spend your weekend relaxing in a four-star hotel, indulging in its facilities and free from having to worry about cooking your own dinner. This explains why, instead of being in his flat, Tom could be seen lying on a sofa in a fragrant, luxurious hotel room, with his iPad on his hand.

He was wearing a white bathrobe, courtesy of the hotel, and there was a glass of red wine on a coffee table nearby. Lying comfortably on the sofa, with his legs lifted, his attention shifted between an e-book that he was reading (Patrick Suskind's _Perfume_) and the non-stop buzzing in the Messenger.

_BUZZ!_

_Catlady_Ginny : Tom!_

_Catlady_Ginny : I know u r there! Please, answer me!_

_BUZZ!_

_tmriddle : Yes, princess._

_Catlady_Ginny : Tom! OMG I dunno how to say this… But there's stg that I really need to ask u!_

_tmriddle : Be my guest._

_Catlady_Ginny : But please, be honest! Give me the REAL answer_

_Catlady_Ginny : This is very, very important for me._

Tom was typing mindlessly when he gave her a positive reply. His sight then wandered into a woman walking out of the bathroom. But before he managed to get a clearer look of her figure, a new message came in, and he just cannot put his mind away from it.

_Catlady_Ginny : Alright. Tom, please answer this._

_Catlady_Ginny : Marvolo. Does this name mean anything to you?_

Tom took a deep breath. Oh, of course, that silly female magazine interview he had agreed for just to keep the reporter from calling him five times a day. And he knew that the little girl would find out about his true identity this way, if she has enough mental capacity to do so –_which she turned out to have_.

But he never thought it would happen quite so soon. Besides, how did she find the article? The magazine was not something secondary school girls would read.

Perhaps her eagerness was finally being matched with her luck.

Ginny Weasley is indeed a very interesting girl.

_tmriddle : The name means a lot to me, little friend._

_tmriddle : Without it then the 'given name' box on my birth certificate would be empty. Aside from a lonely-looking 'Tom'._

There was a long pause before _Catlady_Ginny_ was ever going to reply. While he was waiting for an answer, a woman in black satin kimono suddenly appeared, and stood up right behind where Tom's head was. She bent down, her long, black, shiny hair covered up the side of her face, and soon a white hand, with deep red finger nails, began to move along his cheek.

She traced the structure of his face with the skill of an expert, hand moves slowly and seductively. She seemed to enjoy the feeling of his pale skin very much; when her thumb accidentally brushed his lips, and welcomed with the soft lick of his tongue, she let out a deep moan of pleasure. Her fingers continued to played along his strong jawline, feeling the freshly shaven skin.

Tom closed his eyes, enjoying the woman's touch. As she moved he was able to sense a heavy perfume; it reminds him of the scent of the red wine he was just having.

When he opened his eyes, the woman had already laid her head on his shoulder, sitting on the floor right beside the sofa.

Realising that he was aware of her presence, she stared at him with her heavy-lidded eyes –perhaps it was her dark-coloured eye makeup, or something more natural. She gave a slow, mean-looking smile.

"You looked busy."

"Because it took you forever just to take off your clothes," Tom answered. "Maybe I should cut off your payment for the amount of time I took to wait."

The woman pursed her lips, staring at him with a whiny look on her face. Then she turned her attention into his iPad, looking curiously into the conversation Tom was having in his Messenger.

She bawled her eyes out when she saw that small avatar depicting a red-haired teenage girl, in a gray woolen jumper and red tartan skirt, taking a picture of herself with a Blackberry in front of a mirror.

"I didn't know you like teenage girls!"

"Better than old bat like you," Tom answered. He closed the leathery cover of his iPad, which had his full name engraved in gold letters. He then put it on the coffee table, and for the next hours, his mind was completely away from it.

Because he then decided to leave the sofa, and walked to the direction of the king-sized bed in the middle of the room.

The woman's eyes widen with excitement as she witnessed the bathrobe that he was wearing quietly fell to the floor. She bit her lips when she watched his pale back surfacing from beneath the bathrobe, his muscles moved in a very alluring way, despite his relatively thin figure.

"About time, Bella."

Giggling, the woman got up and approached Tom, who was standing right next to the bed. She slowly caressed his lower back, and softly kisses his shoulder, before she let her kimono fell to the floor. After a slow, carefully executed crawl to the pillow, she laid there with her legs crossed –according to her experience, the gesture keeps her clients interested. A satisfied smile grew as he climbed on to her, pulled one of her hands, and tied it into the corner of the bed –without any effort to remain gentle.

Despite his odd, often rough ways, Bellatrix Lestrange never had any client more beautiful than him, and every minute she spent with him never felt like work for her.

It was like enjoying a massive portion of chocolate mud cake; sweet, velvety

flavour that melts in her mouth, staining her lips. She cannot stop herself from having more of the cake, even if she knows that her blood sugar level is sky-rocketing at every bite.

This time, her mind was sparked with jealousy though, as the name 'little Ginny' surfaced at least twice during their transaction.

(_break_)

There was a sound of rushing water coming from the toilet cubicle in the middle.

The door swung open, and Ginny walked out of it in her lacrosse uniform, pulling her shorts up in the most unladylike way that I am sure her mother would scold her if only she was there. Humming to a popular dance song, she stopped right in front of the sink, where her sports bag and lacrosse stick was, and began to observe the way she looked in the mirror.

Long, straight red hair, met with brown eyes. Not bad, but it gave the impression of too much Fire element in her. She wished her eyes were green like Harry's, so that they would not be overshadowed by the 'angry' shade of her hair.

Nevertheless she still adored the colour of her hair. She liked how it seemed to stand out when she was among blondes and brunettes. Somehow it also made her think of Little Red Riding Hood; as a child she always took pride of not having to need a riding hood to look red. She only needed her hair.

But then there were her freckles and her cheek. She really hate them; how her wide, rounded cheeks always make her look fat, how her freckles always seem to colonialised her complexion. She wished the size of her cheeks would change according to her weight –which was in proportion with her height, and that there were other ways to cover her freckles other than using those expensive concealers and foundations. Her mother would not like to see her using them to school, anyway.

When Ginny opened up her bag to pick up her comb, a sobbing noise was heard coming from the third cubicle from the door. She took a moment to turn her head on that direction. Knowing who it was, she decided not to care and proceed combing her hair.

The sobbing can still be heard when she finished tying her hair in a ponytail.

Ginny dropped her comb into her bag, muttering to herself ("Looks great!"). For a few seconds, she just stood there and stare at her reflection.

How there are far more beautiful people other than herself disturbs her sometimes.

So she had found out how Tom is like in real life, and it was just incomprehensible for her –how come anyone be that perfect?

How do you become annoyingly smart, understanding the ways of the things she had always been interested in? How is it that you were born naturally beautiful, with everything that was in you, while here a young girl is fussing about her freckles and cheeks?

Most importantly, how do you manage to keep her warm with your kindness just when she thought your intelligence and good looks were already too much to bear?

Ginny took out her Blackberry. She had bought that magazine which features Tom on an article –it was under her pillow in her room right now, and had even taken a picture of the article with her phone. Tom's cold stare now graced the main menu of her phone as a wallpaper, ready to accompany her whenever she was lonely, and the real Tom was not available online.

Now it was clear why Tom would never send her pictures of himself when they were having their online conversation. Because he knew that the article is coming up, and that she would be able to find out about him that way… He did not want to spoon-feed her. He expected her to find out by herself, with a little bit of luck and an ability to deduce from the facts. He wanted her to stand on her own feet. Her understood her wish to become more independent.

Ginny softly touched the picture on her phone, feeling grateful for having him in her life, while the sobbing sound continued to come out of the third cubicle.

Sighing deeply, she put her phone back into her bag, and screamed when she found a pair of pale blue eyes stared back at her from the mirror.

"You scared me!" Ginny turned around and yelled at Luna, who was just standing there as if nothing happened.

"You don't have to," Luna replied, unblinking. "It's not that I'm scary or anything."

She approached one of the sink to wash her hands. Ginny just could not believe her eyes when she saw how calm she is.

Not knowing what to say to the blonde girl –who had a lion's tail sewn into her skirt, Ginny decided to remain quiet and let her lead the conversation. That is, if she wanted any.

It turned out that she wanted some.

"Who's that in the toilet?" asked Luna, drying her hands on her skirt.

"Oh, you don't know?" Ginny replied. "It's Myrtle. She does that all the time, acting gloomy and all."

The door of the third cubicle then swung open, revealing a girl with a big, thick glasses and dark hair. There were traces of tears on her cheeks, and my, those eyes don't look happy.

She continued to stare at Ginny and Luna with her angry eyes, until her fast pace managed to take her out from the restroom.

"That's quite scary," Luna muttered, giving another unblinking stare at the door. "But things will change for her around next month. There'll be happy news."

"Good for her, then," Ginny replied, applying sunblock cream on her arm.

"You also have to be careful."

"Eh?"

Ginny was just going to apply the cream to her other arm when she was stopped short.

"Yes, you. You have to be really careful," Luna said, leaning on a sink. "Danger is coming on your way. You're going to be locked away. And it was because of a man with blue eyes."

This was definitely the craziest thing Ginny ever heard coming from this girl's mouth.

"Wait," Ginny said, her hands are both on her waist. "Are you saying that I'm going to prison, or a mental ward, or something?"

"Well…," Luna muttered, closing her eyes. "Not sure. But it has a thick, metal door though. Perhaps a prison. But a mental institution also looked like that."

"That's not very nice, is it, these things that you're saying," Ginny replied. She threw her sunblock cream into her bag, and without any effort to cover up her anger, picked up her bags and lacrosse stick to storm out of the restroom.

If only Ginny knew that Luna once correctly predicted her own mother's death when she was six, then she would not take that warning too lightly.

Besides, the Little Red Riding Hood was the girl who could not tell the difference between her own grandmother and a wolf.

* * *

><p><strong>Phew! A chapter with revelations!<strong>

**I am sorry if it took quite a while. I was being such a perfectionist and I just could not stop editing it. **

**Harry is being curious –I hope this relieves some of you who are worried about Ginny's safety. Her changes will not go unnoticed by those who genuinely care for her.**

**Something also worth noticing in Ron's behavior ;)**

**And Bellatrix –LOL! Hopefully someday she is going to play a bigger role other than just being paid to be chained into Tom's bed. And yeah, if you haven't, do check out the book that Tom was reading on the hotel room. There's something interesting about the relationship between the leading character (an orphan who turned into a murderer) and his first victim (a red-haired teenage girl).**

**One particular scene in this chapter is lovingly dedicated to Chris Coulson, the amazing man behind young Tom Riddle of Chamber of Secrets –guess which one of the scenes ;)**

**Sending out hugs for all of you who are still reading this story –and all of you who had just started reading. Do tell me how you feel about it.**

**(Gets on my Nimbus 2001, leaving to my secret hiding to meditate about the next chapter)**


	7. A Drabble

**A Drabble **

(that has little to do with the story)

(but please read if you have time)

(I would be so happy)

* * *

><p>Ginny Weasley crouched in front of the oven located right under the stove in the kitchen of her family's fish-and-chips shop.<p>

Her gaze was intensely focused on the object that was slowly cooking itself on the inside of the oven; she was so serious about it that she did not realise that her sweet, rounded cheeks was smeared with flour.

After a few moments, she lifted her hands, barely touching the surface of the oven, trying to adsorb the warmth radiating from the inside, as the kitchen can turn into an unbearably cold place sometimes in winter.

"It's coming!" she said to herself, feeling giddy with excitement, as she watched the stopwatch closing in to zero.

The numbers kept on changing…

_Tick-tock-tick-tock… _

Changing…

_Tick-tock-tick-tock… _

Until it finally reached zero.

_Ding!_

"Yay!" Ginny screamed happily, both of her hands were up in the air now, as if she was throwing invisible confetti around. She hastily grabbed the big fat oven mitt, put her small hands inside, and pulled the oven's door open, backing away as the heat evaporated from the burning walls of the oven.

With extra care, she pulled out the tray out of the oven, and with series of "ouch, ouch", she put them on the table.

She was making chocolate cupcakes.

It was her fifth attempt on making the popular delicacies. After what seeming to be an endless string of failures –one of them involved making George felt very sick that he had to run to the bathroom and made those horrible noises- she could finally able to make it right, and she was deeply grateful to achieve it right before her self-pronounced deadline.

Because tonight was a very special night.

The world had just recently thrown their Christmas dress away, and is eagerly anticipating the upcoming New Year's Eve party, which was only a day away. As she sat on her bedroom's window, Ginny would watch people hurried by in the snow-laden street, wearing bulging, thick overcoats with colorful shawl, cannot wait to embrace the warmth of being with their loved ones, safe and sound at home.

Ginny was only able to witness the dancing colours of London as it approached a new year from far away, at the safe protection of her warm bedroom. Usually, this would bother her so much. So much that she would throw a tantrum at her father's knees that would not stop until he decided to pick her up and take her to see the biggest Christmas tree in the city. That much.

However, as she pressed her small nose into the icy cold window, she knew that for once, she did not mind her lack of direct involvement in the excitement.

She has a celebration of her own to make.

And yes, she does not care if she was the only one in the world who is going to celebrate this particular day. Call her a hipster, go on. But this is a special day for her, and oh yes, she was going to put all her heart into it.

After she got all of the cupcakes out of the tray, the kitchen door was suddenly opened with a loud bang.

"I'm starving! Mom! Do you still have that plum pudding…," Ron rushed in, still in his snow-covered beanie and a jacket that made him look twice bigger, hurrying around the kitchen to find the pudding that was already nonexistent since Boxing Day.

His pace was then stopped at the sight of the cupcakes.

"Oh my God…," he muttered, watching his little sister lovingly put them down on a big plate.

Without any second thought, he jumped on to have a grab of the cupcake.

Luckily, Ginny was quick.

Ron's snatch was welcomed by the bottom of a fry pan.

It was not painless.

"Why are you hitting me with… with THAT!" Ron yelled, after his meaningless moan was over.

"Why did you try to take something, that was not yours?" Ginny replied, decorating the cupcakes with castor sugar.

"I didn't know it wasn't meant for me!" Ron screamed, putting his scarlet hand inside his jacket, as if it was going to ease the pain.

"Then ask," Ginny replied simply, taking the plate out of the kitchen.

(_break_)

The price of ambition is fatigue. At least that was what Tom Riddle would be able to conclude at the end of this year's working days.

On the night before New Year's Eve, he found himself walking slowly at the parking lot near Downing Street, feeling exhausted and drained, with dark circles under his eyes. He had finally managed to finish work, both for this year and the following year, which was as familiar as 'next week' in his agenda.

He never had any problem with working hard before. He had always been ambitious; his dissatisfaction with life, his distaste for weaknesses, and his fear of letting things slipped away from his grab had always been his _raison d'etre_… He would even went to the extend that no one would ever done before, even if it was not unheard of.

But his physique seemed to have its own ideas.

Even as he walked into the direction of a black BMW parked in an area especially reserved for the spokesman office, he began to wonder if he would be strong enough to make it home at the driver's seat of the car. Perhaps hailing a cab is a good idea… but no, he does not like the idea of leaving his valuable belongings somewhere other than his home, even if it was his own workplace.

As he opened the door of his car, he could only think of a bathtub filled with hot water, the novel he is currently reading, and perhaps a glass of Bailey's.

Soon a leather bag was thrown into the passenger's seat, followed by a dark green shawl, leather gloves, and a black long coat. The door at the driver's seat was then shut, the engine roared to life, and off he went to a night full of colours and lights.

That was never his.

Five minutes after leaving the heavily guarded area, Tom greeted the first traffic jam of the night.

Sighing, he mindlessly turned his attention into the side of the street.

A group of teenagers. Older than fifteen, but could not possibly be older than eighteen. Obviously drunk. Singing, dancing, laughing. One of them is hugging and talking to a telephone booth as if it was his girlfriend.

Tom smirked, slightly reminded of his days in university.

Days of companionship, of like-minded people. His friends were always the ambitious type, just like himself. The seemingly endless lists of awards he had received, the admiring look fellow students gave to him, those encouraging words the professors gladly bestowed upon him. The places he had been.

And that lady, Helena Ravenclaw. She turned his waking hours into a stream of colours; with their heated discussions and argument, and her dry sense of humour. It was indeed quite rare, a woman of such intelligent capacity. Every night, after the party was over and there was nothing to remind him of decency, she was also the one who heated up his lonely, cold bed.

It was as if he was lying on the fire of purgatory, and free his soul was.

Tonight, as he drove passed a gigantic, brightly lit Christmas tree, Tom realised that all that were left behind were his ambitions. And his own self, eyes forever glued to the rewards. His hands deliberately do the things that were necessary to get his means –he had always been like that, anyway- and his feet willfully step on a landmine, just to keep himself ahead.

And beautiful Helena was scared. So scared that it enraged him so. So enraged that he decided that the only place such cowardly lady belonged to is under an oak tree in the garden of their old dormitory. Nobody had ever heard of her, after that.

It was a lonely path, yet he never felt burdened by it. Somehow.

He was the one who silently watches inside a BMW as people roamed the street, celebrating all that has passed, and all that is going to be.

Especially today…

Before he was able to proceed with his musings, his mobile phone suddenly made a buzzing noise.

Cursing at himself for forgetting to turn it off, Tom picked it up.

And forever in awe with what he found there.

_Catlady_Ginny is sending you a video. Click to accept._

"A video!" he yelled at himself. "Stupid, bloody teenager…"

But he clicked 'accept' anyway.

And found Ginny Weasley's face staring back at him. She was grinning widely at what seemed to be a webcam on a laptop.

_Hello Tom! _

There she goes, chirping with her high-pitch voice.

_Um… I know you once tell me that you don't want to do a webchat with me… But I thought you wouldn't mind receiving this video, since, well, it's a one way communication and yes, you don't need to reply with a video if you don't feel like it…_

She went quiet for a while. Then, she took a deep breath, and began talking again.

_It's too early, I know. We still have, like, um… Twenty? Fifteen minutes? What time is it now? Oh, well… Never mind, I'd rather be early than late…_

By the moment, Tom was already too busy to look at the video, for the traffic lights had turned green.

But something caught his attention.

_Um… Happy birthday, Tom…_

Luckily he was soon met with another traffic jam. He immediately picked his phone, to find an image of the red-haired girl singing a happy birthday song for him.

And there were cupcakes, right in front of her. With candles, greeting cards, and even a cone hat on her head. Her desk was full of cupcakes!

"Ginny, what is this…," he muttered. Bewildered. Surprised.

_Alright! Have a great year ahead, Tom! I'm so thankful for the day my best friend was born… Since you're not here to celebrate with me… And I think you're busy, even though you're online… I'm going to blow all the candles for you!_

She really did that.

_Done! And yeah, I think I'm gonna have to finish them myself… I'm sure my brothers wouldn't mind helping, though!_

The teenage girl laughed with her amicable voice, ringing like music.

Tom felt disgusted.

The cheery laughter. The singing. The cupcakes. _Cupcakes!_

He started to feel nauseated at all these signs of youthful innocence, and her eagerness to please him, to make this moment special.

He punched the steering wheel.

Blood started to rush into his head.

However, he would be lying to say that there were no crystals on his eyes when he first heard of the birthday greeting.

Ginny Weasley annoys him to no end, but at the same time, he also knows that there is just no way that he can let her go.

He needs her presence.

At least for now.

* * *

><p><strong>Dear Readers, Happy Valentine's Day.<strong>

**The short chapter is my special gift to you. **

**PS. Something big is coming up. It may take a while, but please bear with me. I promise you it's going to be massive.**


	8. Manifesto

**Manifesto**

One of the most popular hit of the indie-rock band The Weird Sisters blasted from the old, battered laptop on the desk.

Ginny Weasley stood in front of a mirror on the wall, moving her shoulders to the rhythm of the song, watching how her reflection looked like as she does. She pointed her finger to her own reflection, making funny faces. Then picked up a hairbrush and use it as a microphone.

The ginger-haired teenager started going around her room, dancing and jumping, doing a lip-synch with her hairbrush, trying to copy the way the lead singer sings. Just when she was about to get on her bed and turn it into a stage, a buzzing noise came from the laptop, overlapping with the sound of the music.

She quickly ran to see who it was.

_tmriddle : Do you like the theatre?_

Ginny squealed happily, and typed her reply.

_Catlady_Ginny : Errr can't say. Never actually seen one._

_Catlady_Ginny : I mean, I went to this school play once, and it's only bcuz Ron was a tree at its opening scene_

_Catlady_Ginny : That's not real theatre right_

Tom soon replied with a row of laughing smiley icons.

_Catlady_Ginny : even as a tree my bro's still lame :P_

_tmriddle : I can imagine :)_

_Catlady_Ginny : HBU? OMG don't tell me that u act as well_

_tmriddle : Nooooo._

_tmriddle : But I love a good performance. I make a point of seeing a West End performance at least once in two months, or something. We need something to balance with those mindless Hollywood bollocks._

_Catlady_Ginny : Many Hollywood movies r good :(_

_tmriddle : Yes, but nothing beats a live performance on stage. By well-trained actors and qualified directors. Not 'movie stars'._

Ginny continued to move her shoulders around as she waited for Tom to finish his sentence.

_tmriddle : Actually, I have 2 tickets to see the Phantom of the Opera._

Ginny lifted up her eyebrows.

_Catlady_Ginny : What's that?_ (she put an icon of a cat here)

_tmriddle : In my opinion the best love story ever written._

_Catlady_Ginny : WOW :D_

_tmriddle : And I am asking you to come with me to see it._

(_break_)

This is definitely one of the most difficult things in life, and soon Ginny regretted having agreed to ask for her mother's permission to go see the theatre with Tom.

Asking for the permission itself is already a work of its own. I mean, surely she cannot tell her mother that she is going somewhere with an older man that she met on the Internet, right? Her mother would kill her and sell her meat in the restaurant downstairs.

So, she needs to make up some reasonable story. Or if you prefer to put it this way, lies.

Wonder what will do. Also, do not forget that she still needs to figure out _how_ to say it to her mother.

At that moment Mrs. Weasley was sitting calmly in her room, listening to music from different time on her comfortable, old bed. She was doing her needlework and had her feet propped up with pillows. Her mood was relatively okay, but it does not mean Ginny can just walk in and say something that will turn her into a monster right away.

But, you see, Ginny really wanted to do this.

She had never seen a theatre show. Right after Tom asked her to go see _the Phantom of the Opera_, she immediately went online (courtesy of a kind-hearted neighbour who does not use a password to protect their WiFi system) to do some research about the show. The results impressed her; apparently it is one of the best musical in the world. She had read the summary of the story, and listened to some of the songs. She loved it.

Ginny also understood that this might be the only chance she would ever have in her life to attend such events. Watching a West End show, no matter how culturally important it is, would never be in her family's budget plan. But now there is a good friend of hers offering her to see the show with him –_for free_.

Will you let such opportunity slips away? Ginny wants to be a writer. She needs to broaden her horizon about the forms of literary there are. And going to the theatre is a very good place to start. Last but not least, she really, really wanted to meet Tom.

Standing in front of her mother's door, she realised that there is just no other way. She is going. And her mother will agree to it.

_Knock, knock_.

"Yes?"

Ginny slowly opened the door. Her mother glanced at her; her reading glasses were perched on her nose.

"It's you, Ginny. Come on in."

"Hello, Mom," Ginny said, closing the door behind her. "Are you busy now?"

"I am not. Come here! Sit beside me," said Mrs. Weasley, gesturing into the empty space beside her.

Ginny walked towards the bed. _Good_, she thought. _Positive signs, checked_.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" Mrs. Weasley asked. She was smiling when she talked to her only daughter; there was a glimpse of peace and love in her stare. Somehow Ginny felt a painful stab in her stomach when she saw it, as she was about to betray that loving stare for the sake of her interest. But there is no going back now.

"Ah… Anyway, Mom…," she began. "You know that I am part of this fiction-writing community on the Internet, right?"

"Yes…."

"So… In this community… We… Um… Posted our fiction works and discuss it together, and getting reviews and stuff, and we also talk a lot about literary, and stuff," Ginny said, barely noticing the increasing speed in her tone. "And we also talked about drama and theatre, so we don't just talk about short stories, and…."

Mrs. Weasley quits her work and lowered her glasses, keeping a careful watch at her daughter. The warmth in her eyes had vanished, and there were hints of concern there.

Ginny started to feel uneasy.

"Well, um… So… This community, we… Like… We also have offline events, like, every 5 months," Ginny proceeded with her lies. "We are going to meet and discuss about literary, or go see a theatre show at the… Um… West End? Yes, West End!"

"Students like you going to see West End shows? Who's buying the ticket?"

Ginny felt as if she was going to fall off the bed at her mother's question.

"Oh… Um… That's the best thing!" Ginny replied. "Not all of us are students… One of the members already worked, and he… _She_! Is being very generous with the community, knowing that most of us were students, and she used her connections to get us tickets…."

Ginny gave away a nervous smile. _Phew_. That idea came up on the very last minute.

Mrs. Weasley's glasses got lower and lower.

"So yeah. She got us tickets," Ginny ended her story. "And I want to join in. This Saturday."

"What exactly are you going to watch?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Ah? Oh… _Phantom of the Opera_," Ginny replied. "The one with the mask and everything."

"Hm. And who's going to accompany you? You're not going to go by yourself, no?"

_Please, please. Please. Don't make Percy go with me!_

"There will be adults as well, Mom. I mean, there'd be the girl who got us tickets… And like, two university students… They were mature enough to watch over us, I'm certain…."

Mrs. Weasley put her needlework aside. "Are you sure it's completely free?"

"Y-yes!" Ginny hastily replied. "The tickets are paid already!"

There was another session of silence.

"Well, sweetheart… I don't think there's a reason for me to forbid you, but…" Mrs. Weasley said. "You know I can't let you go by yourself…."

_Damn!_

Ginny moved her hands frantically, trying to explain further. "B-but… I am not going to go by myself, Mom! There'll be at least six other students like me… One of them actually lived nearby, we're planning to go together!"

There is just no stopping the flood of lies coming from her mouth now.

"And remember I once went to the city by myself to drop that package for Aunt Muriel… I was ten and I did okay," Ginny added. This part was not a lie.

Mrs. Weasley took a deep breath, looking lost in thought.

"I think I need to ask your father about this…."

"Oh… No, no need to, Mom! I'm sure Dad will be okay with it…," Ginny added, waving her hands. "I mean… He's really busy… and exhausted. I don't wanna be a burden, Mom. I will be just fine. Seriously."

Ginny put down her hands on her lap, staring at her mother, struggling to look hopeful while feeling all messed up on the inside.

"Alright," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "But promise me you'll be back before ten."

(_break_)

Saturday was not supposed to come so soon like this!

It was as if only yesterday that Ginny went online to tell Tom of the happy news (_I am coming! We're gonna see the Opera!_) after an hour long struggle to convince her Mom that it was perfectly safe and okay to go to this so-called 'offline gatherings'. Now, Saturday is finally here –_here!_ - and Ginny actually woke up with a scream.

After what seemed to be a difficult, endless hours of choosing what to wear,

Ginny finally managed to get into the theatre's front entrance, to wait for Tom to appear.

It was very crowded out there, and Ginny is soon convinced that Phantom of the Opera is indeed a very popular show. There were groups of adults standing in circle, chatting loudly with each other, and they all yell in excitement when another one of their friends appeared. There was also a family of four with their two teenage daughters, which seemed to be of Ginny's age. The way they carried themselves gave an impression that it was not their first time going to the opera.

Standing there in the cold wind, she clutched her little black purse, wearing the white dress, Mary Jane shoes (with little heels) and a black winter coat that she had decided to wear in the morning, completed with a red plastic rose on pinned on her chest. Her ginger hair was smoothed and styled, yet the wind had begun to ruin a few strands of it. It was only ten minutes to the promised time with Tom Riddle, yet she already felt nervous enough to change her mind and go home.

She had managed to annoy every inhabitants of London when she walked in into a tube only to then walk out of it –it had happened at least twice today. Taking a ride on the tube suddenly felt like going to a different galaxy –no, no, she cannot do this, she is not ready, let's just go back and think it through one more time.

Everything seems to be able to go wrong anytime now.

What if he does not show up? What if he asked her to pay for her tickets? _What if he is a fake?_

"Ginny, you… You're so stupid, you shouldn't have done this, it's ridiculous," Ginny said to herself, pacing up and down in front of the entrance. Everyone around her seemed to be heading to it; many of them were couples, hand-in-hand and cheerful with their tickets ready while she was all by herself, waiting for a man who may not be real.

"Why are you so nervous?"

"Of course I'm nervous! I'm about to meet a man I've never met before, and God knows what he is really like in real life…" Ginny continued. "I mean… He could be a serial killer…"

(How very right she was, but let us not go there for the moment)

"I just have so many worries in my head now," Ginny proceeded talking to herself. "From serious, big stuff, like, what if he failed to show up and I have to go home in embarrassment, because there is no such thing as 'Tom Riddle' in this world? Then there is this… Fear…"

Ginny bowed down her head, her face turned red with embarrassment. "What if he's not as hot as he seemed to be in that magazine?"

"The best way to find out is to see him by yourself."

"I know! That's why I need him to show up, right here, right now! Then I will be relieved," Ginny continued, pointing to the spot right in front of her feet. "I need to have him right in front of me…"

"Then all you need to do is to turn around."

That was the first time Ginny realised that all this time she was not just talking to herself.

She halted. Losing all her words, she slowly turned to face the source of the smooth-talking baritone voice that has been replying to her musings –which she initially thought to be the voice of her own mind, as it felt so close and so familiar to her…

"I like the fact that you talk to yourself, Ginny the Catlady. It's very amusing."

Tom Riddle gave away his infamous smirk at the ginger-haired girl, who was suddenly struggling to hide the tears in the corner of her eyes.

Chuckling to himself, Tom handled a bunch of red roses to the star-stricken Ginny Weasley. "A gift for the lady."

With the red roses now in her hands, the flow of tears were unable to be hidden anymore, and Ginny completely forgot her all her worries and the disturbing idea that Tom might just be a serial killer.

_(break)_

Ginny picked up the binocular to get a closer look of what happened on stage.

Sitting all the way here in the balcony, surely her eyes were not fooling her when she thought she saw the shadow of a man inside the mirror?

"It's him," she muttered. "Tom! So, it's really him!"

Agitated, she turned to face Tom, who was moving closer to her side to whisper to the ginger-haired girl. "Yes, Ginny?"

For a few seconds, Ginny actually forgot how to breathe as she realised how close he was to her at the moment, with his face only a few inches from her shoulders. Then she remembered that she had a question. "Oh… um, I mean, so The Angel of Music was actually Phantom?"

Tom let out a soft laugh. "The only way to find out is to keep watching, Ginny dear."

"Oh, right," Ginny whispered. "Right. I'll see what happened next."

Ginny returned her focus into the stage, where a gigantic mirror was placed exactly in the middle of it. The lead character Christine, clad in this beautiful white dress, was singing in front of the mirror, where the image of Phantom, the mysterious man clad in dark suit who always had half of his face covered with a white mask, was seen inside the mirror.

The mirror then cracked open, and Phantom forcefully pulled Christine inside the mirror. The musical notes changed into an angry tone, arousing panic to the atmosphere.

Ginny let out a choked voice. "H-he kidnapped her! Oh my God!"

As she had done repeatedly before, she turned her head into Tom's direction, as if they would be able to do something about the kidnapping on the stage. Tom reacted by trying to suppress his laughter at the girl's reaction, making her blush even more.

Throughout the show, he had been sitting in a very relaxed way, leaning himself to the chair while putting his hands together on his knees. Despite having full attention into the stage, he would only react with a smirk or perhaps a cynical laughter to the scenes that he saw. But only a few moments ago, he –for some reasons- decided to move closer to Ginny, watching the girl with an intense look on his eyes.

His gaze was almost too powerful for Ginny to bear, and she found herself blushing uncontrollably whenever her gaze met his. He would only smile, which triggered an even worse reaction from her part.

"So, the Phantom took Christine to the underworld," he said, placing his hand on his smoothly shaven chin.

"I know! What's going to happen! He's not gonna hurt her, right!"

"Calm down, nothing's bad is going to happen," Tom said, fixing his sitting position.

"What? Why…"

"Just watch and learn, Miss Weasley."

Tom then put both of his hands onto Ginny's cheeks, and pretended to switch her head into the stage's direction.

_(break)_

"So Phantom kidnapped her to teach her to sing, and he was actually a great opera writer!"

The show had ended half an hour ago, and Ginny found herself walking down the street together with Tom. It was a bit windy at the evening, but the atmosphere was very cheerful, with couples passing by and children chatting loudly with their parents, talking about the show they have just seen for the first time.

Ginny was still in awe of the show she just watched, and now she just cannot stop talking about it.

"You know what, Tom, I really love it when it's like this!" she continued to blabber. "Stories when the bad guys turned out to be the good guys!"

Tom smiled. "Plot twists, aren't they amazing?"

"Indeed! I wish there are more stories like that!"

"There are actually lots of stories like that," Tom replied, stopping to wait for the light to turn green and allow them to cross the street.

"Really?"

"Yes. I actually begin to think that it's the norm," Tom said, watching his surroundings. "What seems to be the good guy, is often not the good guy."

He turned his head into Ginny's direction. "Of course, in the other hand, the bad guy is not always bad."

Ginny went quiet, as she did not find the need to reply that.

She decided to use the moment to finally take a good look of Tom, observing him from head to toe, without having to feel embarrassed about it.

She was beyond relieved –and slightly proud- to find out that he was even more beautiful than what is seemed on the magazine.

Oh, forget the wavy jet-black hair, which seemed to growing a bit from how it looked like in pictures. Or his fair complexion, which ensure Ginny that he is going to really, really pretty if he was born as a girl –she felt even more conscious of her freckles and her cheeks now. It was not even his eyes, which turned out to be blue, and the way they stared into her as she sat in the dark of the theatre.

It was all about the way he carried himself. His very presence.

That night he was wearing dark suit and a green woolen shawl, tied into a knot right under his neck. He also had long, black coat, which floats lightly as the wind blew. When he walks, he liked to put his hands inside the pocket of his coat, and Ginny adores he seemed to be always going into something. As if, there was never a time in his life when he would just walking around with no clear destination.

Then there was also the way he talks. As they waited for the show to start, they spent quite a good deal of time chatting, and there were some things that she was able to conclude. First of all, he was definitely a man of substance. It was hard for Ginny to remember all the information that she had acquired during the time he spent with this man. He was really that smart, and how he managed to learn about it all fascinated her. Sometimes he was a bit full of himself, seeming to enjoy talking about his achievements and experiences, especially to an eager young listener like Ginny. But then, if you were really that amazing, you have so much to offer to the person you are talking to, right? That was why Ginny did not mind at all listening to him bragging. Especially with the way he talks, which was very articulate and well thought.

He seemed to shine whenever he was explaining something. Maybe that was why he went to study law. Though Ginny does not think it was something that you can learn, this shining thing he did whenever he speaks. One needs to be born with it.

They crossed the road and Tom unexpectedly asked, "Ginny, do you write romances?"

"Oh… Yes, why, of course!" she replied, trying to keep up with his pace. "I'm a girl, Tom, I can't keep my head off romances."

Tom smirked. "Yeah, sure. So, am I going to get any spoiler of the upcoming romantic scenes in your stories?"

Ginny tried to find an appropriate answer. Do writers give out spoilers, even to their own best friends?

"Well, no," she replied hesitantly. "But I can tell you something that I've always dream of! I don't think it's going to be in any of my stories, but I'd usually love it if I saw it in movies or books…"

"Interesting. Does it involve a prince singing under your window with the full moon as the background?"

"No! Not like that! It's cheesy… But yeah, there's the full moon. A dance in the park, waltzing, with the full moon in the background…"

Ginny lost all of her words when out of a sudden, she realised that they were standing right in front of the entrance of a park. Obviously Tom noticed it as well, and there was this obnoxious smile on his face.

"Interesting," he muttered, moving to enter the park.

"No… Wait, wait!"

She quickly followed Tom into the park, trying hard to keep up with his pace, which seemed to quicken with his growing interest in something.

While still trying to catch Tom, Ginny managed to admire the fact the air felt so much cleaner in this park. Perhaps it was because of all these trees here. There were not that many people there, only a couple sitting on a bench, and a small group of teenagers gathering and laughing under a big tree.

They finally reached a clearing, where Ginny found Tom standing in the middle of a gravel path. He had his back on Ginny, and he was looking upward to the sky.

There was the full moon, hanging there in the sky like a gigantic lamp installed by God.

"_Wow."_

"I know."

Her pace began to steady until she finally came to a halt, right beside Tom. He then turned himself to her direction, with perhaps the sweetest smile she had ever seen in her young life.

He began to bow. "May I have this dance?"

Ginny felt as if her heart just dropped to her stomach.

"Uh… Oh… _Hello?_"

It felt as if the ground needs to open up and swallow her into the core of the Earth, as obviously that was not how you suppose to react when a handsome bloke asked you for a dance.

Still bowing, Tom sighed and rolled his eyes. "Not 'hello', Ginny Weasley, this is not a phone conversation."

"Ah… of course," Ginny replied, looking all red from above the shoulders. Then she began to pull herself together, touching the rim of her dress, and began to bow, in the way princesses often do. "Yes, please."

He took her hands, and slowly guiding her on where to place them. After she was ready, he guided her to follow the commonly known steps to a waltz -which he happened to know a good deal of.

"Y-you know," Ginny muttered. "You can dance. The waltz."

Tom gave a victorious smile. "It's the part of the training when you enter Foreign Office. Ballroom dancing, table manners, languages."

Ginny felt another strike of warm blush. "That's amazing."

"Thank you," Tom replied, guiding her to spin. Ginny's heart leaped when she saw her the way her dress floated as she spun.

"But there is no music, sadly," Ginny said, smiling for the first time.

"Oh, we can easily arrange that," Tom replied, beginning to sing a song that they both heard at the opera tonight.

It was obvious that he does not know all the lyrics to the song, and he filled many of the unknown parts with _'blablabla'_ and _'something something'_. Ginny just could not stop laughing at this.

"You can't sing!"

"Like you can!"

They continue to dance and laugh, until somehow they decided that it was enough. Exhausted, Ginny threw herself into one of the benches, while Tom stood in front of her, wiping the sweats on his forehead.

"I hope it was exactly like how you picture it in your mind."

_(break)_

Tom accompanied her until they arrived in front of Mrs. Weasley's fish-and-chips shop. It was still in their operating hour, and since it was Saturday night, the shop was even more crowded than usual.

Ginny decided that it would be crazy if her mother finds out that she was walking home with a man who was almost twenty years her senior, so she told Tom to leave her there, a few meters from the entrance of the shop, and let her walk in by herself.

"So… I guess this is where we parted," Ginny said, playing with her hands, obviously not wanting the night to end.

"Alright. I have to get going," Tom said. "Good night, Ginny."

"Good night, Tom," Ginny replied. "Thank you. Very much. I will never forget this night."

For the first time ever, Tom gave away a sincere, warm smile. "Glad you do."

He then patted her ginger-haired head slowly, and turned to walk away from the fish-and-chips shop.

He walked along the rows and rows of small shops on the street, watching the excitement of his surroundings. Music from a nearby pub, people chatting while enjoying their dinner. Different kinds of people passing him by, mostly young and happy and careless.

He quickened his pace and was soon heading to a more quiet part of the town. There were no people passing him by in this area, and the only noises came from a car speeding on the street, which soon faded away. It was as if someone had decided to lower the volume of the television, and there were only the sound of his own footsteps, and the sound of a bicycle, moving slowly right behind him.

There suddenly was a loud crashing noises coming from behind.

Tom immediately turned himself to see what was going on.

It turned out that the person who was riding the bicycle had fallen off; he was lying on his side on the cold street, while his mountain bicycle was nearby, its wheel still spinning.

The young man had lost his glasses during the fall, and he was struggling to find it. Tom noticed that the glasses was about a few centimeters in front of him, but obviously the young man would not notice, so he moved to pick it up for him.

"Thank you," the young man said, his bright green eyes were soon covered by his glasses. Tom noticed that there was a small chip on the corner of one of the lenses.

"It can be hard to ride them on two wheels," Tom said, helping the young man to get up.

"Yeah, it is also hard to keep up with expectations. Of perfection," the boy replied as he cleaned his clothes off dust. Tom lifted his eyebrows, as he did not expect the young man to come up with an even more sarcastic tone.

"Well," Tom said, eyeing the young man from head to toe. He was wearing a black windbreaker and dark red shawl, mindlessly knotted on his neck, which was not to be compared with Tom's tidy, smooth green one. His jeans were torn on the knee, and he had a white Converse on. From how he looked like, Tom was certain that he was just starting his AS-level, and must be a member of a sport team. The typical. "Next time, be careful."

Tom then turned and proceeded walking. He was only five steps away when the boy suddenly shouted, _"I know you!"_

He halted, and carefully turned into the boy's direction. "Excuse me?"

The boy was still standing there, with his mountain bicycle lying helplessly on the street. Apparently he had completely forgot about it, as his gaze was focused solely on Tom. His hands were also balled into a fist.

"I know you," said the young man. "I saw her computer. You're the one she'd been chatting with."

_The Weasley girl's friend_, said the voice in Tom's mind. He then reacted by giving a cold smile. "Ah. You are one of Ginny's friends."

"I don't know who you are, but I don't think I trust you," the young man said, glaring at Tom. "Surely a man of your age doesn't hang with a teenage girl for nothing?"

Tom lowered his head, letting out a cynical laugh. "Said the bloke who peeked into his friend's computer. I bet you did not ask for her permission."

There was a slight blush on the young man's cheek.

"I also know who you are. Ginny talked a lot about you," Tom replied. "You're the footballer, right? Her brother's best friend? Harry Potter?"

Harry looked as if he was just being punched on the stomach. Tom let out another laugh.

For the next minutes, the two men just stood there, facing each other. There was a growing tense in the air, as if the oxygen level suddenly decreased. But it seemed to make them only more determined to outpower each other with their stare.

Two men. One in long black coat, another in black windbreaker. Well-combed, wavy jet-black hair met messed up, straight jet-black hair. Green woolen shawl and red woolen shawl. A humble student and an ambitious politician. Fire on bright green orbs and ice on the dark blue ones.

One of them suddenly decided that he has no time for this.

"Well, nice to meet you, Mr. Potter," Tom said, putting his hands inside his pocket. "I am going to let Ginny knows that we have met and uh… Had a nice little chat. Have a good evening."

He then turned and walked away, leaving Harry and his bicycle alone.

After a few steps, he turned to Harry's direction and shout, "I think you have a crush on her!"

* * *

><p><strong>Hello! <strong>

**First of all, allow me to apologise for the unbelievably long time I took to write this –not going to lie, this was a very difficult chapter! My perfectionism also got in the way, as I cannot stop writing and re-writing some parts. I simply want to make sure that this is going to be a chapter that rocked your world!**

**Thank you to everyone who had been reading this, and for patiently waiting for this chapter to appear. Especially for Lizzle –you definitely inspired me to keep on going! Thank you!**

**I hope you like how I portrayed Tom in this chapters. That was just how I see him -charming bloke that is going to melt your heart with whatever he does, but then, we all know what is inside.**

**Everything is going to be really dark in the next chapters, so… Brace yourself! **


	9. Traitor!

**Traitor!**

We are now looking into an empty parking lot of a deserted factory somewhere outside the city. There were some old, rusty dustbin and other incomprehensible garbage piled up in one corner of the parking lot, which gave quite a spacious spot for cars to drive around in. Even as we speak, a sky blue Ford Anglia can be seen going around in circle inside it.

At the first few minutes of its arrival, the Ford Anglia seemed to be driving smoothly. It went around the parking lot in circles, and there were also times when the car moved backward or parked itself at one of its corner. Then changes started to happen when the car stopped and both Ron and Harry walked out of it.

Apparently the two boys were trying to switch places, with Ron finally sat at the driver's side, where Harry used to sit.

That was when trouble happened.

What used to be the sight of a car moving smoothly on the sandy path of the parking lot, now changed into a pitiful little engine, which seemed to be moving-stopping-moving-stopping. One can only imagine how nauseating it must be like being inside the car, especially since the car suddenly began to speed up that it almost hit the wire fence.

Thankfully the car managed to stop, and for some reasons the driver decided that he wants to move backward, and then –_CRASH_. He ended up hitting the pile of junks in the corner.

"Really, Ron!" Harry said, as Ron came running back from fixing the pile of junks. "I know you suck at driving, but this is a new low!"

Ron lifted up his hands. "So very sorry, Harry… But seriously, maybe this isn't the best day for practice…"

Harry decided to push the hand brake, and loosen up his seat belt. Despite being of the same age with Ron, he had had a good amount of driving lessons with his godfather Sirius. We can pretty much say that he is ready to take the driving license examination as soon as he came of age, as he was even already capable of teaching his friends how to do it.

Of course Ron did not take it easily when he first found out that his best friend was already good enough behind the wheel; his sense of competition was triggered. Luckily the boy had matured up a bit, and instead of sulking about it, he pulled off enough bravery to actually asked Harry to teach him how to drive. He was his best friend after all; surely it does not have to be difficult. Ron even managed to sneak his father's Ford Anglia out and use it for driving lessons. Only God and him knew how he managed to get the car out without his mother finding out.

As for today, it does not seem to be the best for Ron. Well, there was never a good day for him behind the wheel, at least not yet. But this is definitely the worst.

"Seriously, Ron, what happened?"

Ron sighed heavily, leaning his head to the steering wheel. "Burnt out, Harry. Too much stress."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What is it this time?"

"It's my Mom!"

"Last time it's also your Mom."

"It's always been about her, OK?"

"All right."

"And Ginny as well."

This time he managed to gain Harry's full attention. "What? What about her?"

Ron smirked. "Ha! I know you'd listen," he muttered. He rubbed his face with his palm. "Well, it wasn't Ginny's fault, really, it was Mom's. But I still get really annoyed."

Harry remained quiet, giving a gesture for Ron to proceed telling his story.

He then began by saying how he always dreamt about starting his own business. _Not very strong in academics, don't think I can do really well working for other people_, he said. He does not even think that he is going to enjoy working in an office setting.

That was why Mrs. Weasley's fish-and-chips shop came as a way out for Ron. Having to own your own business, without having to experience the hassle of starting it up, sounds very inviting for the young man. Ever since its inception, as Mrs. Weasley's own son, he had expected that he would someday inherit this store. It became his motivation to work hard in the shop, and he always makes sure that he has an active participation in every important decision and events. Until Mrs. Weasley somehow decided, without even informing her other children who had worked hard for the shop, that the shop is going to be in Ginny's hand.

"She didn't tell anyone, not even Dad!" Ron said furiously. "She didn't even ask for Ginny's consent. She just handed it to her!"

Harry nodded, giving an understanding look.

"And you know how she is… She doesn't even want to be in that shop! She doesn't care at all!" he continued. "She was never serious, always leaving her work to other people… She only cares about her computer and nothing else!"

This suddenly reminded Harry of something, and then it was his turn to look all gloomy and disturbed.

It did not go unnoticed by Ron.

"Oi! You all right? What's with the sudden gloom?" Ron asked, suddenly looking concerned.

Harry sighed deeply, and looked away from Ron. No, at first he was not going to tell anyone about this, as he realised how very sensitive this issue was. But he had been doing a lot of thinking _–especially after what happened that night_. He decided that there were some crucial things that are at stake here; no matter how discomforting it was, he knew that he had to talk to someone about it.

So Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After counting to three, he turned into Ron and said, "Ron, there's something that I need to tell you about your sister."

Ron almost jumped from his seat. "Wait! You're not telling me you two are dating, right? Right?"

"No! No… It's way more serious than that."

"What can be more serious than that?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Okay, how about this? Your sister's been talking to someone on the Internet."

There was a moment of silence.

"So?" Ron asked, remained indifferent. "Everyone is talking to someone on the Net these days."

"No! No… You don't understand. This… This is a different kind of talking," Harry continued, his tempo suddenly increased. "The bloke was much, much older than her, and he was this… Smooth-talking, suspicious person, he told her all sort of pretty things, and… And they've met. Last week."

"_Say what?"_

The next moment looked as if someone had pressed the mute button and the only thing we can get was that Harry began to talk about something so passionately, with his hands moving around and his face looking even more worried that before, followed with similar drastic changes in Ron's facial expression.

At the end of Harry's story, Ron was so shocked that he accidentally touched the horn button of the car and sent deafening noise everywhere.

_(break)_

Tom put a cigarette on his lips. Using his hand as a cover, he lit it up and sent smokes up to the air.

He has never been a smoker, and the last time he actually had something down his lungs was back then in university. One basically tries everything in that stage of life. Even for someone with an abundance of self-control like Tom.

Loosen up his tie, he laid his head back on the head of the sofa, continued to puff smokes into the air. It was a hard day and he was exhausted, with his physical and emotional strength drained, and he was drawn to do something he usually would not do. Going to the newsstand to get a Dunhill is one of the examples.

After a few silent minutes of staring at the ceiling, with his emotions finally under control, he finally took a long drag, lifted his head, and stared at the mess that was once his own living room.

Nothing seemed to be in the right place.

The coffee table in front of the sofa was flipped over; one of its legs was broken. Shattered glasses were on the floor, because there was once a glass of water on top of the now upside down table. The bookshelf near the television was in a very poor condition; all of its contents are on the floor, with pages flying in the air like feathers. A painting on the wall was missing; probably fell behind a small cupboard in front of the wall. There was also a massive crack on the television screen; a dictionary laid on the floor gave away a short explanation of what just happened.

In the middle of this mess Tom sat lazily on the sofa, smoking a Dunhill and cursing the bitter fate that had just fallen into him today.

If only Lucius Malfoy did not bring up that bad news.

He was a friend of the rich businessman. Well, 'friend' is not really the right term to describe it, but it is safe enough to say that they are 'like-minded'. The two gentlemen believe in being superior; that money, despite its helpful nature, would not mean a thing if you do not shake hands with the right group of people, or even the decency to know which one of the groups you should belong.

Both like to pretend that they admire each other's strength and talent in public, while their internal motives keep on lurking and waiting for the day when it will be able to show its ugly faces.

As they carefully anticipate for that day to come, Tom enjoys keeping it friendly with the man by putting on his best clothes and attending his lavish dinner parties. He would also bear the mindless conversation these socialites are having; about their designer handbags, their holiday to Tuscany, who is getting married, who is getting a divorce.

A piece of information, which Lucius was able to pick out from his vast network, was what he is really looking for.

"He has found a replacement," Lucius whispered over champagne at a dinner party in his mansion today.

Tom, who was in the middle of enjoying the bubbly drinks, was stopped short. "He? Who?"

"The Prime Minister," Lucius continued. "It breaks my heart to tell you this, Tom, but you are not going to stay in that office after next year's election. Dippet is bringing in a new fellow."

Tom felt as if he was going to crush the fragile glass in his hand.

Lucius looks as if he was deeply concerned. "I am so sorry to hear this, Tom. It was foolish for him to replace such a great mind like…"

"_Who is this person that is bound to replace me?" _

Lucius became quiet for a while as he observed the furious glare in Tom's eyes.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt. I am quite certain that you are familiar with the name."

"From the Foreign Affairs?"

"Yes. I believe he was your senior. Had field experiences in the Middle-East," Lucius replied. "Dippet seemed to think that your… Prodigal tendencies were nothing compared to his well-proven track record. And age."

If there was indeed a satisfied smile on Lucius' face as he said it, then certainly Tom was too angry to notice it at the moment.

He got even angrier as he arrived home, where he had the opportunity and freedom to let it all out. His living room became the first, and perhaps not the last, victim of his wrath.

If there is anything in this world that Tom Riddle would rather have no knowledge of, is the fact that he could easily be replaceable. As he lazily walked into his bedroom with the cigarette still in his hand, it finally dawned on him that he would do something about it.

(_break_)

It seemed that all the police constables in the department had gathered in front of Detective Moody's office, whispering excitedly about their superior's most recent eccentric behavior.

It had been more than 24 hour since Detective Moody was last seen out of his now locked office room, and his colleagues had began to wonder if they really should be worried and start casting a signal for danger.

It is not that the detective has never locked himself in his own office for hours before. In fact, a day seemed short compared to that mysterious breaking at the national bank which left everyone perplexed, when Detective Moody would lock himself up for three days to focus his mind on solving the problem. He came out hallucinating and malnourished, all right, but the case was solved and the detective received a well-earned promotion.

This is why his behavior had left everyone confused; this may be another one of the gentleman's show of brilliance, but if he failed, then only God knows what would happened to him.

Especially since no one understood why this particular case is so important for Detective Moody.

Behind the closed doors, Detective Moody was sitting on his desk, staring pensively at a massive blackboard in front of him. He was enjoying a bag of roasted chestnuts –he had sent the boys to fetch one from the street, in case he gets hungry- and sweat started to glint on his scarred face, yet his focus remain undisturbed as he probed all the possibilities that the blackboard has to offer.

That was quite an impressive graphic on the board.

Detective Moody considered himself an old soul, and he was not really fond of his colleagues' over-dependency in digital technology. This led to his marvelous collection of blackboard chalks and related stationeries, from Post-It labels in various colours, and stickers that supposed to belong to elementary school children.

On his blackboard, Detective Moody had created a very big chart with boxes and arrows of different colours, each of them explain their correlation to the murder and suicide case he was working on. On one box he attached a photograph of the crime scene; two dead bodies lying on the floor, each with grotesque gunshot wounds on the head and chest. Another box was filled with background information on the first victim (_Gellert Grindelwald, 63, Spokeperson for the Prime Minister in the Office of International Affairs_), while another box filled with the victim's agenda for the day was linked with dotted lines to it. Boxes below were filled with information on the gun that was used in this criminal act (he drew an exclamation mark near this box) and the official statement from the autopsy (another exclamation mark was added). Below those two boxes, Detective Moody had attached a copy of the letter summarizing the investigation result, and added a gigantic question mark beside it.

This is the point that Detective Moody found really dissatisfying, which had disturbed him so much. What annoyed him most is that nobody in the Scotland Yard seemed to sees it the way he sees it.

"_This is not a suicide!"_ he yelled at his superior when the report came out and they were about to close the investigation.

"Moody, I know that you have this extraordinary mind and talent to solve crimes and all, but the father and son had a quarrel," said his superior. "It went really bad and the son accidentally killed his father. And then he killed himself because… Well, he regretted it. Shameful, they were such respectable family, yes. But this is the cold, brutal truth."

Detective Moody rolled one of his eyes, as the other one was covered with leather patch, a memorabilia from his glorious days as a young police constable. "With all due respect, sir, but nobody 'accidentally' picks up a gun and kill a person with such precision."

The superior was silenced for a few seconds, but he is not going to give up so easily. "What is this that you're trying to suggest, Moody? That the son was too precise in killing his father for his own good?"

"Exactly!" said Moody, standing up from his chair. "And if I may, sir, everything about the crime scene… It was… It was too perfect! _Too clean_!"

Detective Moody threw out his arms widely, and yelled so loud that everyone in the office started to stare. "So clean that it may as well be fabricated! And if it's true, then there is a very strong possibility that this is more than just a father and son quarrel! _This may be a first degree murder!_"

"What are you doing here, commenting on the way he should've killed his father? I may as well declare you as the culprit, Moody!"

The argument continued to heat up, and Detective Moody ended up walking out of the room with his superior's hesitant permission to precede the investigation.

However, the superior never made any effort to stop him from investigating. Especially since things started to climb uphill since he continued the process.

First, Detective Moody was able to find out that Gellert Grindelwald's son had never owned a gun, let alone took a shooting lesson that enabled him to shoot with such precision from such distance. Second, this lad was the old gentleman's son, for Heaven's sake. Why did he have to take such distance to fight and kill his father? Why cannot he just hit the frail old man with the broken vase they had found in the scene? _Why is there a gun in this story?_

Detective Moody had also talked to a mysterious gentleman in black hooded jacket under a highway somewhere outside of London, and his simplistic advice had only convinced him more that there is indeed a bigger issue behind this.

_Find out who will be most benefited by his disappearance._

He always took the advice of the intelligence very seriously, especially on the matters that happen behind the back of the most powerful group of people in the country. For he does not have the eye that sees it all; he needs the help of an extension.

Guided by the premise, Detective Moody experienced a sudden inspiration that encouraged him to throw the chestnuts away, jump down from the desk, and start going through the pile of folders on his desk.

He stopped at a single folder, and his remaining eye widened at what he found inside. He picked up a cutting from a newspaper he found months ago, at the early stage of the investigation. He did not understand why, but something was telling him that this small piece of information might just be important.

Detective Moody added one more box on the lower part of his blackboard, added _"possible interested parties"_ on top of it, and attached an article which showcased the news of a young, talented diplomat to temporarily replace Grindelwald's position in the office.

(_break_)

Ginny Weasley was having perhaps the most perfect afternoon in her life.

Walking home with a lacrosse stick hung on her back, exactly beside her big orange backpack, she found herself singing as the pleasant spring wind blew her hair.

Oh, look at the way it flows, and how easy it feels. She no longer had her ever-reliable yellow hairclips, which would usually pin her hair to the side. Tom was right when he said Ginny should 'take that ridiculous thing off' her hair, during one of their Skype conversations, as they made her look like a little girl. So she deliberately took them away and never worn them again, despite the questioning look from her mother and her friends. She always let her hair loose now, especially after a rigorous post-workout shower like this afternoon.

She indeed felt as if she was a few years older already.

She would only turn fourteen this year, and was obviously far from being mature. But since the day she met Tom, Ginny felt as if something inside her had grown, and it had caused her legs to grow a little bit taller, that she felt different in the way she walks. She also began to feel that her school uniform was a bit too stuffy, so she sewed up the rim of her skirt to make them shorter. Pretty flat shoes that she found at a flea market had replaced her sneakers.

Every morning, as she walks down the school corridor with the knowledge that she has a secret friend that no one else has, and that this friend was able to bring out this different side of her, Ginny knew that her soul had finally been liberated. And that she would not go back to becoming the timid young girl who was always at the end of the long line of Weasley kids.

With this abundance of good feelings, Ginny pushed the door of the fish-and-chip shop, and walked inside to find Tonks cleaning one of the tables to prepare for today's business.

"Hello, Tonks," said Ginny, greeting the punk-rocker who sported bright pink hair today.

"Hey," she replied. "Anyway, your parents want to see you in the living room. Right now. As soon as possible."

"My parents? You mean, my mom and my dad? He had came home from work?"

"Unless you were born as a banana tree, yes, your mom and dad," Tonks replied.

"Okay, thanks," Ginny made a vague reply as she walked upstairs to where her family lived.

As soon as she arrived at the second floor, she was greeted by the sight of her parents, Ron, Percy, the twins, and surprisingly Harry, all sitting on different spots in the living room. Their parents and Percy occupied the biggest sofa, while Harry and Ron sitting huddled together on the floor nearby. Fred, with George leaning lazily on its armrest, occupied the other sofa.

All of them seemed quite serious. Percy was looking the way he would look as usual, but there was this exhausted grief on Mr. Weasley's face. Mrs. Weasley looked as if she was going to beat Ginny mercilessly as soon as she was within range. Ron was whispering something to Harry's ear, and he was nodding slowly. The only group who was seemed indifferent was the twins, who were laughing soundlessly to something in Fred's iPod.

"Well, hello… Why is everybody here?" asked Ginny, her eyes specifically targeted at Harry. _No, this is definitely not a family affair if he was involved. But why?_

"Hello, Ginny," said Mr. Weasley. "Please sit down, we'd like to talk to you," he continued, eyeing a group of beanie bags on the floor, where the kids usually laid themselves to watch the television.

Ginny then dropped her backpack near the television, and pulled one beanie bag to sit on. After she had managed to sit comfortably, she looked up to her parents and tried to give them her best smile. _Really, did someone died?_

"Ginny, we'd like to ask you something," Mr. Weasley began.

"Please, Dad."

"About three weeks ago, on a Saturday. You went to see a theatre show in West End, and you came back around nine o'clock," Mr. Weasley. He stopped for a while, taking a deep breath. Then he proceeded.

"Ginny, who did you go to the theatre with?"

She blinked her eyes fast. "Oh, that… I went with a group of friends, from the online community."

"Are you sure about this, my child?"

"Yes, why would I…"

"_You're lying!"_

The words hit her like a roaring thunder, and soon everyone in the room was focusing on Mrs. Weasley, whose face was as red as her children's hair. Even Fred and George were finally being serious, putting the iPod away.

"Molly, please calm down…"

"No, I will not calm down, Arthur!" she yelled. "This child had lied to us and there is no way that I would accept that!"

"Mom, I didn't lie!"

"Shut up!" Mrs. Weasley yelled again. "How dare you fooled me with tricks! I have no idea what you kids want! Putting yourself in danger like that, going out with a stranger!"

Ginny felt as if something had blocked her airway. _She knew? But how?_

"Molly, calm down!" said Mr. Weasley. He then turned his attention to Ginny, who had begun to feel shaky inside, especially with silent tension on her father's gentle eyes.

"Ginny, dear. Please tell us the truth," Mr. Weasley tried again. "Whom did you go with?"

"I-I told you, I went with… With friends…"

"Then please give us their names and let us confirm it."

For the first time Ginny realised that there is no way that she can get out from this. "But…"

"See? Of course she wouldn't be able to do so. She lied to us. There is no such thing as this… What is it… 'writing community'. She made that up. She actually went with a man that she met on the Internet, and she has no idea who he really is," Mrs. Weasley spilled it all out like a gun.

Everyone was silent for a few painful seconds. But then Ginny pulled up enough courage to defend herself.

"W-what are you talking about? You've no proof… You can't say that I went out with a stranger from the Net, you don't even have…"

"I don't need any evidence! Harry here has witnessed everything!"

Ginny took a sharp look at Harry's direction. Feeling awkward at the mention of his name, the boy slowly bowed his head down.

_He had been following me that night?_

_But how did he know that I was out with Tom?_

_How did he…_

Then Ginny's memory traveled back to the time when she left Harry alone at the library with her laptop, while she was in the toilet. She did not use any password to protect her account. She was also chatting to Tom at that moment, and her sentimental tendencies made her unable to erase the conversation history with him…

She was so angry that she actually jumped into Harry's direction, trying to hit every single body part that she was able to reach.

If it was not for Ron who was sitting nearby, then perhaps she had managed to hurt Harry, who was making no effort to shield himself from the attack.

"How dare you…!"

"Ginny, no…!"

"I trusted you, you traitor!"

"Ginny!"

The living room turned into a swirling mess, as Fred and George tried to pull Harry away from the commotion, with Ron acting as a human shield to protect his best friend. Mr. Weasley was struggling to hold Ginny, who was kicking Ron furiously, while Mrs. Weasley bowed down her head and cried on the sofa. Percy, knowing his lack of proficiency in physical fight, slowly faded into his own bedroom, where no one would even remember of his existence.

"STOP IT, WILL YOU! STOP IT!"

Mr. Weasley's thunderous yell finally managed to separate them all.

Still in her father's arm, Ginny was panting breathlessly. Her feet were no longer kicking Ron, but some strands of her hair were in her mouth, and there were crystals on her eyes. Ron was on his knees, rubbing his arm that was sore from his sister's kicking. His face was scarlet, and there were this angry red shade on his ears, as he yelled to his sister, "You don't mess with my best friend, you silly girl!"

"He invaded my privacy!"

"He's trying to protect you, idiot! And since you know no difference, hell yes I think you deserve it!"

"Enough, enough you two!" Mr. Weasley yelled again, tightening his arm around Ginny. He then released her and forcefully turned her to face him.

"Ginny, answer me! Does this mean everything Harry said is true? That you're dating a man you met over the Internet?"

Refusing to answer her father's question, Ginny pulled herself away and ran to her room, where she would cry, cry, cry all the pain away.

* * *

><p>Enjoy!<p>

;)


	10. The Great Escape

**The Great Escape **

Have you ever been in this certain state of mind, where you are perfectly balanced in the border of reality and dream?

The sky was still dark outside, and Tom Riddle was able to sense that morning is near, yet he was unable to move his own body. Even his eyes refused to be opened.

_Tom…_

His hand made a jerky move, and his facial expression looked as if he was seeing something that disgusted him in his dream. He then started to move uneasily in his sleep.

_What are you doing? _

The voice started the sound more clear than before. It was as if someone had forcefully put their lips in front of his ears, whispering words that he cannot escape…

_Can I go with you?_

He could see a child. A little girl, not older than five. She was blonde, her short hair looked like those of classic Hollywood child actress, and her pink lips were smiling widely. He did not see any pair of eyes, though. Was it because the light was too bright? Or was it…

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

He was finally fully awake.

Cursing the noise coming from his smartphone, he rubbed his face angrily to get rid of any trace of sleep. Then he sighed heavily, moved to the direction of bedside table, and shut the alarm off.

Throwing himself back on the bed, Tom found it amusing that he actually had a dream about his childhood.

Not just any ordinary part of his childhood. That was a very special moment, the moment that really defined his life. It was how he first got introduced to that rushing feeling. The raw emotion that had became some sort of an addiction for him.

It is odd that the little girl was eyeless, for Tom knows for sure that the kid had a pair of perfectly healthy eyes. And they were beautiful, so beautiful that the day the little girl arrived at the orphanage, everyone's attention seemed to be divided ninety-five per cent to the angel, four per cent to the rest of the orphans, and perhaps less than one per cent for Tom, the weird kid who was always seemed to be behind a book.

Craving for attention, really, that little girl was. She would follow all the other kids around, asking them to play with her. And they would always succumbed to her wish, for nobody was able to resist such twinkly eyes and endearing smile.

But Tom found something nauseating in it.

He tried his best to escape the little angel. Until one day, they were having a holiday under the sun, somewhere in Britain's coastal area. They were being paired in groups, and Tom was considered lucky for being able to go with the little angel. Nobody knew how his stomach turned when he saw her smiling face, her innocent questions as he tried to walk away from her.

Was it hot anger, blind jealousy, or pure hatred? Whatever it is, that day Tom finally tasted the glorious feeling of surrendering to its sensation, and the sensation grew hotter, that it finally exploded when he pushed the little angel down to the ground and placed his small hands on her throat.

It was luck that she survived. It was also luck that she was so shocked that she lost her ability to talk ever since.

Laughing softly to himself, Tom pulled up the blanket to cover himself up. Oh, that glorious, rushing feeling. It came back. As if it was only last night. Combined with the natural urge that shows itself up every morning, Tom felt as if he was on the brink of ecstasy, and deeper to the sea of blanket he swam, satisfying himself to the pleasure that must not be named.

This time, the little girl in his mind has long, ginger hair.

(_break_)

Harry Potter just cannot believe the mess that he was seeing as he walked out of bedroom that morning.

From what he heard in his uneasy sleep last night, he could tell that his godfather Sirius did have a really good time with his party, celebrating his small record company's most recent addition. There were loud music, laughter, and even a couple mistakenly entered Harry's room, and had only managed to throw away their tops when Harry politely asked them to leave ("Um. Hi. Someone's trying to sleep here"). But now that he had seen the mess that the party had created, well, good for you Sirius, but you are not the one who is going to clean all these!

Harry carefully tiptoed across the living room, as the floor is currently littered with beer cans and confetti. At some spots, there were also bodies of people he had no knowledge of, and he was secretly hoping that none of them were dead. The couple apparently ended up sleeping in hugging position on the sofa, and the lady made these strange noises that caused Harry to stop short.

After much struggle, he finally managed to get into the kitchen, where another man seemed to be fast asleep on the floor, exactly under the dining table. Harry decided not to give it a care, and he almost fainted as he opened up the kitchen cabinet to find Sirius' combat boot inside. He took the misplaced shoe away, grab a box of cereal, and came back with a bowl and a spoon to began his breakfast.

That was when he became fully awake, and the fatigue of the past week finally started to kick in.

That was indeed a very difficult hour at the Weasley's place. George had managed to pull him away from the trouble, and safeguard him in the twins' own bedroom when Ginny went berserk at the questioning. Even after the bedroom's door was closed, he knew exactly what happened; that Ginny had locked herself up in her room and refused to come out.

Despite Mrs. Weasley's encouraging hug before and after the commotion, he was so exhausted and embarrassed by the incident, that he had begun to question his decision to tell Ginny's family about his concerns.

Really, he was just concerned. He had heard all these creepy stories about online predators; they are saying nice things to unsuspecting young girls, then in the end the girls' nude picture are all over the world. Or maybe even worse.

He was just trying to help here. He was just trying to warn her family, that their daughter is hanging with an unknown, suspicious man whose motives are still unclear. But he was extremely surprised at how serious they took this issue –he even found himself disagreeing with the way they publicly confronted her.

He did not blame Ginny for being mad at him. He understood how much pressure that girl had to deal with, being judged like that. That was why he did not try to defend himself when he attacked her; he somehow felt responsible for her discomfort, and he felt really guilty for it.

_Sheesh, Harry, stop trying to act like a hero_, said his mind, as he opened up the refrigerator to get the milk. _Yeah, yeah. I know. But… It's her, you know? How do you stop wanting to protect someone you adore?_

He slammed the refrigerator door shut and found himself staring at a hung-over Sirius, leaning on the kitchen wall, slowly massaging his aching head.

"Good morning," he said with a smile.

"Ah… Morning, Harry," said Sirius, slowly moving towards the table. "God, I need a new head… What's that kid doing over there?"

"Some people enjoy sleeping on others' kitchen," Harry replied. "So, last night seemed… Wonderful."

"Yes, and I feel like being ran over by the tube now," Sirius replied, slumping himself down the table.

Harry laughed as he poured the cereal to his bowl. "We can fix that, don't worry."

Sirius then hastily lifted up his head. "Oh my God, Harry… I'm so terribly sorry. All this mess, blimey. Here's the deal, I do all the cleaning, you don't have to worry about it…"

"It's all right, really…"

"But…"

Harry reached over the table to grab his godfather's hand. "Sirius. It's all right. Okay? I may not finish it all in a day, but you're not doing this by yourself."

Sirius took a deep breath. "Okay… God, what have I done to deserve you, Harry. I mean, seriously, if you want to scream and run away from home, I really wouldn't mind…"

"Chill, Sirius, I am not running away. Too tired."

There was a comforting silence as Harry began to eat, while Sirius watched him with an endearing look that did not go unnoticed by the young man.

"In the mood for being fatherly?"

"Oh," Sirius muttered, seemed embarrassed that he was caught. "Well… How's life, Harry? Did something bothered you lately?"

Harry took a few seconds to consider answering that question. "Well… There's something, actually…"

Sirius fixed his sitting position, suddenly looked all alert and healthy. "Please, do tell me! Don't keep it bottled up!"

Harry laughed at this sudden change, but then his expression grew serious.

"How do you help a person who does not want to be helped?"

Sirius lifted his eyebrow. "And how is it like? "

"Well, I have a friend, he… She! Well, she did something that worried me. And it turned out that I wasn't the only one, 'cause when I tried to tell her family that she's doing things behind them and it might be dangerous…," Harry began. "They took it very seriously and they confronted her… It's really messy, went really bad, that was."

"Okay."

"My question is… Well, she didn't take it well, obviously, and I'm quite sure right now she'd just locked herself up and sulking and being mad at everyone," Harry continued, feeling surprised at himself for being able to talk for so long.

"And you wonder if you should continue helping her, or to let it go and let her have it her way."

"Yes! Yes, exactly," Harry answered, waving his hands madly. "I mean, she obviously hates me now, but I was doing the right thing, weren't I? Or was it selfish? For me to do this…"

"Harry, look at your surroundings."

Harry paused and did as told.

Whatever it is that Sirius meant, then he had not seen it yet. Except if he was talking about their kitchen, and the mysterious bloke under the table.

"I don't understand."

"Harry, look at all these talented musicians that I had to work with," Sirius continued. "Don't ask me how many times I have lost a great, potential talent just because they can't handle their demons."

Now that is something worth listening to.

"Sometimes it's heroin, sometimes it's the girls. And I don't just sit here and eat while they crash. I talk to them. I persuade them. I gave them money, food, housing, anything! Just to keep them in the right path," Sirius said, tapping on the surface of the table with his palm. "Most of them wouldn't take it."

"That's… tragic."

"But have you ever see me stop trying?"

This is the point where Harry would start giving a faint smile. "I think I see what you're talking about."

Sirius patted Harry on the back. "Great. And it's exactly what you are going to do."

Sirius made a gesture as if he was trying to find the right words to describe his feelings. "The thing about people and their demons, Harry… It's… They can't think straight, these people. They have to be reminded. That's why they need people like us. Even if they wouldn't listen… Well, at least it's not because we didn't try."

"Yeah, because they are still under the charm of their demons, right? Because this friend of mine…"

Their conversation was stopped short by the intro of ones of the most popular rock song of the era, and Harry quickly ran off to his room to get his phone, which was almost hidden under the pillow. He picked it up, saw a glimpse of Ron's name on the screen, and was just pressing the green button when a breathless voice said…

"_Do you know where the bloody hell my sister is?"_

(_break_)

Harry pushed the door to the fish-and-chip shop with all his might that the little bell on top of it made these incomprehensible, messed up noises as the door hit the wall. Panting, his eyes searched wildly for anything, anyone that he recognised in the room, and he was beyond relieved to find Mrs. Weasley and Percy in one of the dining tables.

"Mrs. Weasley!" he immediately ran off to her direction.

"Harry! Oh, Harry," she slowly got up, stumbling a little as she reached over to hold her son's best friend. Percy hastily tried to assist her, as she looked as if she might faint anytime soon.

"What's going on, Mrs. Weasley? What happened to Ginny?"

"I don't know, Harry, I don't know," Mrs. Weasley sighed, returning back to her seat. She picked up a handkerchief that was lying on the table in front of her, and used it to pat her eyes dry.

"We called her for breakfast this morning, and she was gone," said Percy.

"What…"

"She's been inside her room since last night, refusing to come out," Mrs. Weasley continued. "I told her that I'm not going to be mad at her. But she wouldn't say a thing."

"There were no answers when we tried to call her, so we decided to broke into her room," Percy continued, rubbing his mother's shoulder. "She's gone. And her window was wide open, I think she escaped from there."

Harry slumped down to his seat.

Somebody's phone was ringing on the table, and Mrs. Weasley became panicky as her son reached out for it ("Is that your father? What does he say?")

"Hello. Yes, Dad, how was it? Still no result? All right," Percy stared at his mother with a meaningful look that distressed her even more. "Thank you, Dad, I'll tell Mom. 'Bye."

With an almost inaudible sigh, Percy dropped down his phone.

"What did he say?"

"He's been to the school, and had personally talked to McGonagall. No news about her. The school is going to help search for her, though," Percy replied. "Dad's going to the police now."

"Where are the others?"

"Dad is checking the school, my brothers are searching around the area," Percy replied. "Harry, do you have, like, even the faintest idea where she might be?"

Harry did have an idea, but he was too scared to say it out loud.

"That man on the internet. I'm sure she was going to see him."

Mrs. Weasley was grim when she said it.

(_break_)

Ginny Weasley was buying a piece of pork sandwich and hot tea for breakfast when her brother Ron suddenly rushed in to the delicatessen. Panicking, she quickly hid her food inside of her rucksack, let her hair loose to cover her face, and pulled the hood of her jacket up.

As her brother walked around the room, trying to catch a glimpse of his missing sister, she quickly joined a group of tourists who were about to depart from the place. Her small figure enabled her to blend in perfectly with the group, and no one even noticed that there was one extra person in their line up as they noisily left the delicatessen.

Her journey had just begun; she cannot let it end too soon.

(_break_)

"Good evening, Mr. Riddle."

Tom was just walking out of his BMW, and did not even get to close the door of his car, when two policemen and a big man with a leather eye-patch and horrendous scars on his face suddenly came up to greet him. Well, Tom had noticed them standing near the entrance of the car park when he first arrived. It is just that he would never think that they are actually coming to talk to him.

"Evening," Tom replied, feeling somehow relieved that the car's door was able to protect his personal space from the mysterious scarred man. "How may I help you, gentlemen?"

"Mr. Riddle, my name is Alastor Moody," said the man, showing off his badge. "And we are here to ask you about a missing child."

Tom went silent. "A missing child?"

His mind was reminded of the dream he had this morning.

"Yes…" Moody replied. He took out a Blackberry from inside his coat and searched for something in it. After he had found what he was looking for, he held it out so that Tom can see what is in it. "Have you seen this girl, Mr. Riddle?"

Tom took the old, battered smartphone from his hand, and he swore he could even feel his pupil dilating at the sight of Ginny Weasley on its screen.

His quick and busy mind immediately thought of lies and strategies to diverse the detective's attention.

"No, sir… I have not," Tom replied carefully.

"But as far as we are aware of, you do know Miss Ginny Weasley?"

Despite not knowing for sure why, he decided it would be fine to tell a bit of the truth. Just a little bit.

"Yes, we… We are friends. But no, I have not seen her. We have never met," Tom replied, handing the Blackberry back to Moody.

There was a strange glint on Moody's eye, and he lifted up his head in curiosity.

"How is that so, Mr. Riddle?" asked Moody, putting the phone back in his pocket.

"Beg your pardon?"

Moody took a deep breath. "You said you two were friends. And you sir, you recognised her at first glance. As soon as you saw the picture. But you said you've never met her, how is that possible, sir?"

Tom gave away a smile that would sweep all the girls in England off their feet. "It's the Internet, Detective. There is this… Social networking site, where people can post the short stories they have written. I have an account there, and that was how we know each other," he explained. "We often chatted. And I was familiar with her face, because she has a similar picture on her avatar."

"I see," Moody muttered, his gaze completely fixated on the strangely eerie beauty of the man he was talking with. "When was the last time you two talked? Over the Internet, I mean."

Tom lifted up his eyebrows, pulling out a funny face as he struggled to re-create his last conversation with Ginny. It has to be carefully thought of, of course. "Let's see… Two months ago, I think."

Then he suddenly remembered to add a little touch of sympathy. "Yes, I have been wondering, actually… I have not heard from her for a while. So you said she has been missing?"

There was a pressing tone in his last sentence that did not escape Moody's attention. "Yes, ran away from home three days ago. Her family had reported to the police."

"How did you know?"

"Pardon?"

"Ah, I mean… I'm glad to be able to help, of course, but I wonder how you know… That I'm a friend of her, even when we are not close?" Tom asked, trying his best to conceal the pressure in his voice.

"We try to give our best effort, Mr. Riddle. We have been tracing all her friends and possible acquaintances."

Moody's powerful gaze still has not left Tom's perfectly controlled facial expression.

"I see. I hope that she will be found soon," Tom replied with a concerned expression on his face. As if it was a search engine in a computer, his rushing mind stopped at a single image of a teenage boy with messy jet-black hair and rounded spectacled.

"Thank you, Mr. Riddle. Well… I think that's all for now. Thank you for your time, sir," Moody said with a slight nod of his head. He gestured at the two police constables to leave. "We are very sorry to disturb your evening."

"It's all right. I am sorry that I am not able to give too much help," Tom said, the infectious smile returned.

Moody gave away a polite smile. "Oh, anyway, allow me to congratulate you on your promotion, Mr. Riddle."

"Thank you, Detective."

"It must be hard for you to be in charge of… All those big responsibilities. On such a short notice."

Tom laughed, there was an insatiable pride on his eyes. "Well, it's the risk that one needs to take in order to succeed."

"Indeed," Moody muttered, his gaze started to fix on Tom again. "You must be a very strong person, Mr. Riddle. I have heard about your reputation; young, hard-working… And that you actually grew up in an orphanage! Is that true?"

"Yes, I did. Somewhere near Vauxhall Road."

"I see. I'm sure you've faced a lot of difficult things in your young life! All those harsh competitions…"

"This is indeed a very competitive field, Detective."

"And that time when Miss Helena Ravenclaw went missing. That was a very difficult time, indeed."

And that does it.

For the first time ever, Tom failed to hold on to the flawless, angelic mask that he usually found very easy to control of.

Stuttering, he struggled to begin to speak again.

"Uh, excuse me, but why you suddenly brought this up?"

There was a satisfied glint on Moody's eye; as if this was the moment that he had been waiting for.

"Ah… I'm sorry, Mr. Riddle, but it's hard not to notice the similarity between this case and Miss Ravenclaw's!"

"I do not think there is any similarity between these two cases, Detective."

Tom stared at Moody with a wary, suspicious glare. However, the detective pulled out a mocking face, as if Tom just told him that dinosaurs still exist. "Ha! Of course there are, Mr. Riddle. Both of these girls, they… _They know you_."

The mask had completely fallen off; Tom's voice began to rise, and all traces of smile and politeness had left his face. There was a furious fire on his dark blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, Detective, but I really do not understand why you have to bring this out," Tom fired away. "I was only a university student, and having to sit at the police office, being interrogated for hours, for something I have no idea of…"

"I'm sorry, sir…"

"Yes, that was indeed a difficult time, thank you very much, Detective."

"I understand, and I am sorry. But you managed to get through it all, no, Mr. Riddle? Because you had such a strong alibi…"

Tom dropped his jaw; his anger was so unbearable that usually smooth-talking man now lost all his words.

"Oops. I'm sorry, but I think I've taken too much of your time," Moody said in an almost comical way. "Have a great evening, Mr. Riddle."

He walked away from the bewildered gentleman with a victorious smile on his face.

_I got you, Riddle. _

Meanwhile, Tom angrily slammed the door of his car shut.

(_break_)

Ginny Weasley felt a shudder as she stopped under a canopy in a crowded street somewhere in London. This had been the fourth day of her escape, and she began to feel exhausted.

She needed to keep on moving to prevent herself from getting caught. She had seen some of her brothers in public places, running around and asking people whether they have seen this young girl. There were also posters of her, taking photograph of herself in the mirror, being posted on postboxes and walls, completed with her family's contact numbers and address. By far, she had managed to escape every single cross encounters, thanks to this hooded jacket and her long ginger hair, dangling on the side of the face to give a better cover up from onlookers.

Really, how disgusting her hair had been. She cannot remember the last time she had showered, and all those time she spent sleeping in public toilets and tube stations did not do them good. No wonder people had failed to recognise her; she had always been a neat, well-kept girl and her picture on the poster was a far cry from how she looked at the moment.

She stared at the darkening sky. Blimey, why did she have to forget her watch? She had intentionally turned off her smartphone, so there really is not any way to tell the time. But one thing she was certain of is that her heavy rucksack had begun to dig in painfully into her shoulder, and she was in dire need of a proper place to lay herself on.

Thankfully her destination is nearby, so she only needs to quicken up her pace to get there.

(_break_)

Tom Riddle punched the wall madly as the lift's door close with a 'ding'.

Cannot believe what just happened to him a moment ago. A detective! Popping out of nowhere to talk to him, about his past involvement with a murder! No, no, this cannot be accepted. Apparently he had been wrong to think that the past had been buried; it was still out there, walking around under the sun, and a ruddy detective had managed to come up to it and say hello. Now he is trying to bring it up to him, suspecting that he was the one responsible for it!

This is it. He has to hurry up. He needs to proceed immediately to the plan.

Damn, that bloody detective. That was very sharp of him. Tom still remembers it very clearly, how the local policemen were completely baffled by the case that had happened, of a medical student that went missing. She was last seen studying at local library with a friend, before leaving to stay at her boyfriend's place - which was Tom himself.

Tom managed to convince the girl to meet him at an area near their dormitory, where the trees are thick and people seldom walk in. He smashed her head with a stone, and buried her under one of the trees. She was still alive when he put her down there, but of course the ground did a great job in finishing her life for him. Then he casually walked into the local pub to meet his friends - he needed their testimony of his presence, so that was necessary.

It turned out that this certain detective was more substantial than his fellows back then in the small town. Tom had determined to go on with his plan, but he needs to be extra careful. It had turned into a mind game now, between him and the detective. He needs to work harder to keep him off his trail.

Then there is that news of Ginny running away from home, blimey…

_Ding._

The lift's door opened at the ground floor, revealing a girl with long, ginger hair and a hooded jacket right in front of the door. She looked timid when she walked into the lift, but soon her gaze met with Tom's, and an excited beam grew on her face.

"Tom!"

Tom felt as if his head was going to explode.

"You!" he grabbed her arm and pulled her into his direction. "What… you!"

"Ouch! Tom, that hurts!"

He pulled the girl closer to him with such force, and he was shaking her up now.

"What do you think you're doing!? Why are you here now!?"

"Tom, stop! You hurt me!"

"Answer me!"

Ginny looked as if she was going to cry. He finally let go of her, thought not without any force. She hit the wall of the lift, and her shoulder hit something hard inside her rucksack.

The next minute was tense. Ginny bowed her head down, her sore arm throbbing madly. She was too scared to look at Tom, let alone to say anything to him. Even in this position, she was able to feel his glare piercing through her skin.

The eerie silence was broken by another_ ding_ sound.

Tom immediately walked out of the lift and moved to the direction of his flat, closely followed by Ginny, who had to struggle to keep up with his pace.

They finally stop in front of his place, and judging from the way he opened the door, Ginny knew that Tom was still angry with her.

She began to feel misplaced. Perhaps she should not be here after all.

_(break)_

They got inside the flat, and Ginny could only resume her silence as Tom put his leather bag on a table near the kitchen. He took off his long coat and shawl, but did not offer Ginny to take off hers, so she did not dare to make any move. Somehow she had the impression that he is going to ask her to leave in less than five minutes.

He walked into the living room while slowly taking off his tie. Ginny walked really slowly behind him, and despite her unfavourable state, she still managed to take the liberty to check out his place.

There was a big bookshelf on her side. She moved away a bit from Tom to pay close attention to the thick volumes, and notice some familiar titles. A massive collection of Encyclopedia Britannica, crime series, some classics. She realised that many of them are old and slightly battered, but she took it as a good sign. That means the owner actually read them, right?

Her attention was then refocused into the rest of the flat. The interior of the place was modern and simple. There were not many decorative things to adorn the place, but blimey, those were quite impressive diploma and certificates hanging on the wall. There were also photographs of Tom in his younger years. On his graduation day. Speaking on the podium in a debate competition. Wearing a suit in front of the Foreign Affairs office. At a party with his university friends, all of them looking beautiful, smart, and untouchable. Hugging a very pretty girl with long, wavy hair (something painful grew in Ginny's chest as she saw it).

Ginny wondered why there was no picture of him as a child, but this does not seem like a right moment to ask.

"Sit down."

Her attention was diverted into him again, who was sitting on one end of the sofa. He left his tie hanging loosely on his neck, and the sleeves of his white shirt had been folded. There was an unlit cigarette on his mouth.

Ginny put her rucksack on the floor, and sat on the other end of the sofa.

Tom picked up a matchbox and lit up the cigarette.

"I hope you don't mind," he muttered after taking the first drag.

"Oh, it's… It's all right, really," she answered, feeling awkward.

Another silence passed. Tom suddenly stared at her direction, making Ginny felt really small.

"Does it still hurt?"

"No, it's okay, I…"

"Show me."

Fear of making him angry again, Ginny took off her jacket and rolled up the sleeves of her top, revealing several angry red marks on her skin. There was also a bluish hue near her shoulder, where something in her rucksack had hit her. She had been trying to keep herself composed, but her slightly watery eyes are a testimony to the physical pain that she was feeling.

Without a word, Tom got up and walked into the kitchen. Sighing, Ginny took the moment to take another good look around his flat.

There was a massive crack on the television screen, and she was wondering why when Tom came back with a bowl of ice cubes and a small towel. He did not say a word; he simply sat closer to her, wrapping the ice cubes with the towel, and then began to put the towel on the red marks on her skin.

Ginny winced a bit, but then she forced a smile.

"Thank you…"

"You're running from home."

"Yes."

"What's going on?"

"Well. My parents. They found out about you, and… They don't like it. You know, they're being fussy and all. So I ran… I don't know, I'm just mad at them."

"So they know about me?"

"Yes."

_Damn!_

"And they know you're here?"

Ginny shook her head slowly. "They still can't find me. It's been three days."

Tom sighed deeply, and his gaze wondered around the room. Obviously he was not happy about it.

"Did anyone see you? When you got here?"

Ginny fixed her sitting position. "No. Oh, no, Tom, I'm quite sure. I went inside through the back door, and it was empty there… even the lobby…"

"Shut up, Ginny, I did not ask for details."

Embarrassed, Ginny bowed her head down, and that was when she first realised that Tom's hands had never actually leave hers. One was pressing the towel, gently on her skin, while the other had its fingers clasped into hers.

What beautiful hands. If only they were holding hers in better time.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Tom lifted up his head, watching her intently.

"Uh, I mean… I'm going to put you into trouble, if my parents know I'm here. Sorry. I was stupid to think that it'd be okay…"

"Don't be silly."

"Eh?"

"I said, don't be silly. You can stay."

Ginny seriously thought she had misheard it.

"Look, Ginny, I do not approve of what you're doing here. Especially with the fact that you have involved me into this problem," Tom said.

"I'm sorry…"

"But then, be honest to me… Where have you been sleeping all these days?"

"Well. Different places. Stations, public toilet. I slept on a bench once, in a park."

"Then I am quite certain that your parents would rather have you sleep in a proper bedroom for at least one night."

Ginny lifted up her head to look at Tom. She felt as if heat radiates from her growing smile, and blood started to flow through her system again.

As if immune from her radiating joy, he remained serious and grim. "But there's one condition. Tomorrow, you are going home. I'm going to take you. If necessary, I'm explaining everything to your parents. So that there won't be any misunderstanding. Is that clear?"

Ginny slowly nodded.

The coldness and cleanliness of Tom's flat suddenly felt very comforting for her.

_(break)_

Ginny stood in front of the sink, drying her hair with a towel.

She still found it hard to believe that she was standing inside Tom's bathroom. His bathroom. Where he takes a shower everyday. His most personal space!

She actually jumped around at this idea, when she first walked into it. As if she was trying to adsorb the essence of him into herself, she picked up all the bottles in the shower, and smelled them one by one, trying to trace it back to the smell of his skin whenever he stood too close to her. She washed herself with the hot water, watching the glistening shower pour with delight in her eyes. This is the sight that Tom meets everyday.

She walked out of the bathroom and found Tom on his bed, fixing the place for her to sleep.

"I am going to take the sofa. You sleep here. I got the pillows and blanket all prepared," he announced, dropping a warm, crisp blanket on the bed.

Ginny knows that her jaw must have dropped at this sight, and something in her stomach had turned in excitement.

"T-thank you," she replied. "It's very nice of you."

Tom picked up a pillow and another blanket. "I will be outside."

He walked out and closed the door by pushing it with his foot, leaving Ginny all alone in his room; her wonders and excitement had doubled by half.

Lost for words, she ran her fingers, through the crisp white sheet, feeling the smooth surface. She then slowly got on the bed, making a creaky noise as she moved towards the pillow. Soon she got her head buried deep in it, allowing herself to drown with the scents of freshly washed linens.

There were traces of his scents.

She was almost half-asleep when something suddenly passed in her mind.

Jumped down from the bed, she moved towards the door and opened it slowly to find Tom lying on the sofa, half covered by a woolen blanket. He was typing something on his phone.

"Yes?"

"Um… I feel bad."

"About?"

"You sleeping on the sofa."

Without looking up from his phone, he sneered, "Why? You want to tell me that I do not need to feel bad, and that I am allowed to spend the night on the same bed as yours?"

"No, no…! That's not…!"

Tom put down his phone, and gave a knowing smirk. "Come here."

Hesitant, Ginny found herself rooted by the door.

"I do not have to say it twice, right?"

"Oh… okay."

She moved slowly to the sofa to sit beside him. Once she did, he reached out his hand and began pulling her closer. To lay on top of his body, buried in his hug.

The choking noise she made was impossible to hide.

"Just go to sleep."

She did not reply, but her muscles had begun to relax as she curled herself in his hug. She was soon lost in the warmth of his body, and there was nothing else that she could remember about the night she fell asleep in Tom Riddle's hug.

Meanwhile, he grabbed his phone again, typed Kingsley Shacklebolt's phone number, and sent the message out.

There was a satisfied grin on his face.


End file.
